


The Fire In Your Eyes

by flamehairedwritings



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Blood and Injury, Character Death, F/M, Follows Canon, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), More tags to be added, Sex, Sexual Content, Swearing, Tension, Unprotected Sex, Violence, but does it, hangings, mentions of miscarriages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 252,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamehairedwritings/pseuds/flamehairedwritings
Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 219
Kudos: 232





	1. Stand Unshaken

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

Ada knew she’d checked the locks on the doors. Twice. She knew she had. She knew they were locked.

But what if when she’d checked them the second time she’d accidentally unlocked one? Or all of them?

Blowing out a breath, she turned onto her back for the countless time in the last hour, brushing her curls away from her face with her forearm before settling her arm above her head.

Staring at the bed canopy, she drummed her finger tips against the pillow.

_Go to sleep._

Usually it was fine. Some days she just had to check them once then that was it, she could sleep.

Some nights, she couldn’t.

 _One more time, then that’s it, I’ll really know_.

Exhaling a long breath, she pushed the covers from her body and slid her legs off the bed, lowering her feet to the floor. The cold wood reminded her it was a ridiculous time of night to be doing this, but she soothed the silent argument with another _one more time_.

Fumbling for her robe from the back of her chair by the window, she tugged it on and wrapped the cord around her waist as she peered through the gap in the curtains. Lantern flames flickered in the town of Strawberry in the near distance, some dwindling in the late hour, and beyond the roofs of the furthest buildings the moon shone through the tall trees.

And there was no sign of any human movement anywhere.

Pushing her hair over her shoulder and rounding the bed, she found the doorknob and carefully opened the door. Avoiding where she knew the boards would creak, she moved quietly down the hallway, past Annie and her mother’s bedrooms, the doors firmly shut. They were both light sleepers but she had mastered the art of silent walking long ago, even in the dark knowing each step to take.

One hand found the banister as the other lifted her robe so she could begin descending the stairs.

Her foot landed on the bottom step when she heard it.

Pausing, she stopped breathing, straining to place the sound in the distance.

 _Is that thunder?_

The newspaper had warned of an incoming storm─

Rapid gun fire echoed up from the valley of the town.

Ada’s eyes widened as her head snapped up.

_Oh, Lord, please, no…_

Floorboards creaked above her but it was an inconsequential sound compared to the screaming, yelling and gun shots that started to rise.

_Move._

Darting forward, she grabbed the Repeater propped by the front door and pressed her back to the wall by the nearest window. Lifting the curtain, she peered out. She could only make out glimpses of the frenzied movement occurring below, the house situated too far up the hill behind the town to get a clear picture─

_Oh, God._

Flickering lights started to grow larger, rising up the hill. 

“Miss!”

Jolting, Ada spun to see Annie running down the stairs, gripping the skirt of her nightdress, her eyes wide.

“Annie, get back up─”

“Miss, what’s happenin’?”

Reaching out to her, Ada gripped her forearm, holding her steady as she stumbled on the last step. “I think there’s an attack on the town, Annie, I need you─ Annie, look at me, please.” She gripped her arm a little tighter when the other woman whimpered, trying to regain her full attention as Annie tried to look over her shoulder, managing to catch her gaze. “Annie, I need you to take Mama down the back stairs and to the barn, the noise should have woken Adam, he’s probably already getting the horses ready, so I need you both to take Mama away, all right? I need you to all get away.”

Annie nodded several times, her eyes still wide in terror. “Yes, Miss, I will, I─ Wait, Miss, where’re you gonna go?”

“I’m going to get you some time.” Ada quickly continued as Annie whimpered again and opened her mouth to interrupt, “You remember the place we all talked about, don’t you? The one past the dam? I’ll meet you all there, all right? I won’t be long.”

She waited until Annie nodded before she released her, gently pushing her towards the stairs. “Good, go on.”

Turning as soon as she knew she was running back up the stairs, Ada returned to the window, her heart thumping in her chest as the lights drew nearer, so near she could start to make out the shapes of the people carrying them: five men. Men with hoods concealing their faces and guns in their hands.

_Calm down, calm down, focus._

“Ada? Ada, darling?!”

She ignored her mother’s calls, ignored the tugging they drew at her heart. She could hear Annie gently coaxing her towards the backstairs, and focused on the men. They were walking up the path now and she didn’t move, knowing the darkness of the house would keep the little of her face peering out hidden. For the next few minutes.

Drawing back the hammer on the Repeater, she clenched her jaw as she adjusted her grip, blowing out a slow breath.

Then, they paused, the one on the far left nudging the man beside him. All their heads turned. Her brow started to dip, when she suddenly realised.

They started to run in the same moment she did.

Running through the family room to the kitchen, she swiftly withdrew the bolts that kept the back door locked and wrenched it open. Racing out, she ignored the cold, wet mud that clung to her bare feet as she ran along the dirt path.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the barn, the wagon rolling out of it carrying her mother, Annie and Adam. Adam was trying to gain control of the two horses pulling the wagon, tugging at the reins and murmuring to them as they danced about, jittery from the noise and each other, their ears twitching.

Ada tried to run faster, seeing the men, closer than she was, approaching the barn in her peripheral vision. She couldn’t look at them, though, if she did then something might happen to her family, she couldn’t look away, she couldn’t look away, _don’t look away_ ─

Gunshots fired, and it was as if they tore through her. She came to a juddering halt, her eyes wide. Adam fell first, his white hair blinding against the dark of the night. She heard Annie scream, before it was suddenly cut short. Then her mother stood, her head and shoulders appearing above the sides of the wagon.

Ada wanted to scream out to her. She wanted to tell her to get down, to stop being so foolish, _get down, Mama, please, please, please─_

Gunshots rang out, and then there was silence.

_Run._

A voice in her brain was screaming at her but the message didn’t reach down to her feet. A cold numbness swept over her body as the men approached the bodies but she couldn’t look away from the wagon. Couldn’t look at the men. Couldn’t look at the bodies.

_Run._

The men were looking over them, searching pockets, taking things from them.

_For God’s sake, **run**._

One of the men lifted his head.

A bullet whizzed past her shoulder and she jolted back into her body.

They saw her.

Before she knew it, she was running. Back towards the house, around it, down the path. She could hear them calling after her, taunting, laughing.

Irish voices.

_Oh, God, no…_

She forced herself to just focus on how far away the voices were and that they weren’t shooting at her.

She didn’t slow as she ran down the hill. Screams from the centre of town and gun fire started to overtake from the noise of the men chasing her, and, rounding down the bottom of the path, she froze suddenly, her senses assaulted by the sight before her.

Flames and smoke billowed up from various buildings, making the air thick and heavy. People were running and shouting, some trying to fight back, others fleeing in every direction. She had to swiftly lunge to the side to avoid a horse that suddenly appeared from the depths of the thick smoke and raced past her, it’s eyes rolling as it screamed.

_God help us all, this is going to be a massacre._

The yells of the men behind her as they also dodged the horse had her running again, taking advantage of what she could. 

She ran into the smoke and haze.

The main source of activity seemed to be coming from the Sheriff’s office, so she turned right before the bridge, running past the doctor’s office. The door was wide open but before she could look a man knocked against her shoulder as he stumbled past her and she turned her head, reaching out to him to warn him that he was heading into more danger when he collapsed, and she saw the blood soaking the back of his shirt, spilling out into the mud.

“Hey, girlie, where’re you goin’?”

Inhaling sharply at the voice behind her, Ada turned, gripping the Repeater with both hands.

A man, his face unconcealed, grinned at her. Soot and flecks of blood covered his skin, but his green eyes shone brightly. “What’ve you got there, girlie? You got a gun?”

His Irish accent was gentle, maybe in another time and another place soothing, but his gaze on her was hard, unyielding. A hunter with it’s prey.

Raising the gun, aiming at his chest, she grit her teeth in an attempt to stop her voice from shaking. “Stop. Don’t come any closer.”

Pure delight spread across his features as he raised his hands.

“Oh, c’mon now, that’s no way to welcome someone to your town, is it, darlin’?” He took a sudden step closer, making her recoil a step back in return, nearly slipping in the mud. “I’ve had a long, hard day and I just want to have a chat with a pretty girl, all righ’?”

“Don’t come near me, please.”

“‘Please’? Oh, darlin’…” He started to lower his hands, his grin still wide. “I do like hearin’ you beg─”

She squeezed the trigger.

The gun kicked back slightly, knocking against her cheekbone, but she barely felt it. The man made a strange, groaning sound. Looking down, he appeared dumbfounded as his hand pressed over the hole in his chest.

“You bitch…” He almost slurred the words as he looked up at her. “… You shot me. You fuckin’ _bitch_.”

He went for his gun.

She squeezed the trigger again. He fell to the ground with a harsh, choking sound, his arms and legs splaying out. She kept the gun trained on his chest as she stared down at him, watching his body twitch. Then, he stilled.

She didn’t move, breathing hard.

An explosion near the Sheriff’s office made her jump and finally tear her gaze away from the corpse.

_Keep **moving**._

Lowering the gun, Ada went to take a step and swiftly stopped herself. Keep moving where? She didn’t know when the screaming and gunfire stopped, but the town was quiet, eerily so. She could hear voices from somewhere but they were calm, conversational. She started moving away from them, quickening into a run when she heard a separate set of voices to the right of her; men coming down the south path. She ran to the cabin on the bank of the river, crouching low as she moved to the front door.

Opening it an inch or two, she quickly assessed the room, finding it, mercifully, as empty as it had been for the past few weeks. Stepping in and closing the door behind herself as quietly as possible, she kept low, leaning down on one knee, and peered out of the nearest window. Buildings were still burning, keeping the town covered in a blanket of smoke.

She couldn’t see a damn thing.

Ducking down again, she pressed her back against the wall, keeping the gun tight against her chest. She took a moment to debate her options; wait until they were gone, if they ever did leave, or try and escape now and risk being seen?

_Think, think, think._

If she could get into the cover of the trees, she could lose them if she was seen, but, no, she still needed to actually get _out_ of the town. Exhaling sharply, she closed her eyes, mentally mapping out the town and its exits in her mind. 

_The stream._

_Yes_ , she could follow the water down by walking along the bank, it’d be freezing but she could round the bottom─

A door opened.

She was on her feet in seconds, gun raised.

A man paused in the door way, his hands instantly raising. “Woah, miss, easy.”

He was an American, but so had been one of the men who’d chased her. He didn’t have a hood on, but there was a black bandanna tied around his neck. Her gaze quickly darted behind him, seeing a window in the room behind him open. Why would he come in discreetly if he was part of the gang? Then again, she didn’t recognise him and this was a damn small town. And the guns strapped to his waist spoke for themselves─

“Easy, miss, it’s all righ’. I’m not with them.”

Her gaze flicked back to meet his. He probably had practically seen her mind racing, debating.

“It sure looks that way,” she countered, her finger hovering over the trigger.

He kept his eyes on her, not moving a muscle, and it should have bolstered her that he was taking her seriously but it just made him harder to gauge.

“I’m not. They’re the O’Driscoll’s, ma’am. I don’t doubt you’ve heard of ‘em.”

Ada inhaled a shaking breath but her hand didn’t tremble as she kept the gun trained on him. 

Yes, she’d heard of them.

Swallowing thickly, she adjusted her grip on the Repeater. “Who are you, then? A bounty hunter?”

A laugh escaped him, a short, rough sound. “No, ma’am, I am not.”

“I take it you’re not a lawman of any kind.”

“No.”

“Answer my question, then.”

He regarded her for a moment or two before finally speaking. “I’m Arthur Morgan, I’m with the Van der Linde Gang.”

Oh, them she’d also heard of.

She lifted her chin slightly, her gaze flicking over him once more. “I read about you in the paper. I read about what you all did in Blackwater, what you’ve done.”

“Have you now?”

“You’ve all got a high price on your heads. Especially Mr van der Linde.”

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly, something having amused him. “Yes, we do.”

“Why should I believe you’re any different than the O’Driscoll’s?”

The amusement vanished. “’cause we actually got morals, unlike these animals. Dutch always says feed people as needs feedin’, save people as needs savin’… I think you need savin’, miss.”

The words were out of her mouth before he’d even finished his sentence. “I’m fine.”

His eyebrows rose. “With all due respect, you ain’t. We ain’t the best of people but we’re better than them.”

It was now her turn to regard him. _’Gentleman Dutch’_ , an article had once called the notorious outlaw, in exterior alone above and beyond─

A gunshot sounded from the other side of town, making her jump and Arthur stiffened, though, thankfully, her finger was no longer over the trigger. His hands lowered as he looked out the window behind her, his jaw moving.

“Miss, I’m gonna need you to make a decision.”

She stared at him. She thought of Adam, of Annie, of her mother, of the people of this town, if there even were any left.

She had no choice.

She made her decision.

Lowering the gun, Ada clenched her jaw. “Shall we go out the front door or the window?”

“Down.”

“What─”

He lunged towards her, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her down. Yelping, the gun dropped from her hands as she fell to the floor, Arthur leaning over her as the window above them shattered and glass rained down upon them.

Bullets exploded into the room and she could _hear_ the sound of them embedding into the wall opposite.

“Shit,” Arthur hissed under his breath, his arms trapping her in, keeping her down.

Once the glass had stopped falling, he moved away from her and into a crouch. Pulling the guns from the holsters at his waist, he peered over the shards still in place before quickly ducking down again, a bullet flying past him.

“God damn it…”

She looked away from him as he started to fire back, her gaze slowly falling to the glass surrounding her.

_Focus on this. Work out how to get through this._

Carefully shifting her feet under her, Ada ignored the slight jolts of pain of some of the shards biting into her. Reaching her hands out, she pressed them down onto a clear space of floor, dug her toes into the ground and gently pushed herself forward, trying to stay down as she moved. Retreating behind a counter, she pressed against it, her gaze finally returning to the man.

Arthur was still shooting back but they both knew they were overwhelmed, the bullets battering against the cabin making that very clear.

Ducking down to reload his guns, he looked over at her, assessing her.

“We’re gonna need to run.”

“I know.” She couldn’t help the slight bite to her tone.

“These feller’s ain’t gonna let us go easy.”

“I know,” she repeated, arching an eyebrow. “So, what’s the plan? You get yourself out of these things all the time.”

The gunfire ceased.

Matching her expression, he then peered over the edge of the window again. “Well, ma’am. That I do.”

Holstering his guns, he opened a satchel she hadn’t previously noticed around him. Searching in it, he pulled what looked like some sort of red tube from it.

Then, when he removed a pack of matches, she realised very quickly that it was not just a red tube.

“That’s not exactly subtle,” she protested, even as she crawled across the floor to the room this man had first appeared out of.

“Yeah, well, sometimes you need a distraction.” Shifting to his knees, Arthur glanced at her as he struck a match against the floor. “Get ready to run.”

Lighting the stick of dynamite, he hurled it out of the shattered window in the same moment she rose to her feet. Running through the door and across the room, narrowly avoiding striking her hip against the bedpost, she pulled herself through the window, Arthur right behind her.

Jumping over the fence on the back porch, Ada ran towards the river, her original though not thought out plan the only thing in her mind. She heard Arthur still behind her, following, and didn’t know whether to be glad or terrified that he apparently hadn’t thought of the next step whilst she had.

Arthur caught hold of her upper arm when she stumbled as the dynamite exploded and the ground shook, and started hauling her over the rocks.

She ignored the sound of wood cracking apart and shouting as she ran, the sharp edges of the rocks biting at her bare feet and cold water soaking her legs and robe, though Arthur’s firm hold on her kept her upright and moving. Finally reaching the grass of the hill, he released a short, sharp whistle as he started to pull her up it. She heard the faint whinny of a horse and her gaze darted about the treeline. Then, a black horse broke through the bushes and cantered towards them, tossing it’s head.

Gripping the back of the saddle and pommel as the horse came to a stop, Arthur pulled himself up, staring across at the path leading to the town as he settled in the saddle.

“Come on.” Holding his arm out to her, he pulled her up behind him once she took hold of his forearm. “Hold on.”

Seizing the sides of his coat just in time, Ada held on tightly as Arthur pushed the horse into a canter, guiding it down the hill and across the stream. Once over, he urged the horse into a gallop, taking them down the main road. The horse was fast, but her heart was still pounding. Would they have men patrolling the outskirts of the town in case anyone tried to leave or arrive? Would they come after them?

They soon came to the Dakota River, a bridge holding a train track high up to their right. Slowing the horse a little, he guided it towards the river. A quiet, involuntary sound left her as cold water, kicked up by the horse’s canter, fell upon her feet and legs, making the robe and nightdress underneath cling to her skin.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder. No one was following them, yet.

On the other side of the river, Arthur kicked the horse back into a gallop, taking them down the path to their right.

“They comin’?”

His voice took her by surprise and irritated her slightly, as if being silent was what was keeping them safe. Ada looked over her shoulder again, finding the road empty.

“No. I can’t see anyone.”

“All right. We might’ve lost ‘em, then.” With a gentle pull on the reins and a quiet murmur, he brought the horse down to a trot, patting the snorting animal’s neck. Rolling his shoulders, he exhaled a short breath. “Keep an eye out, though. They could send two or three.”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the path behind them. They both fell silent, the only sound the horse’s hooves against the dirt and the occasional whistling of birds in the trees.

“What’s your name, miss?”

_Oh, Lord._

It was a valid question, but it startled her. 

“Annie Sawyer,” she lied smoothly.

He may have claimed to have morals and be treating her kindly now but who knew what him and his gang would do if they found out who she was. Well, she could probably take a pretty good guess.

“All right, Miss Sawyer, I’m gonna take you to where my gang is hidin’ out, okay?”

“Where are they?”

“Now, I ain’t gonna tell you but I ain’t gonna blindfold you, all right?”

Her jaw moved. “Fine.”

_Wonderful. That’s probably a great sign of trust to him._

“We ain’t gonna be able to stop at any point, I don’t want anyone associatin’ us with what happened back there and I don’t wanna give ‘em a chance to lead ‘em back to my people.”

“Okay.”

“All right.”

She tightened her grip on his coat once more as he urged the horse back into a gallop, leaving behind the smouldering remains of Strawberry and her home in the distance.


	2. The Mercy of Thieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

Lush green fields and full-leafed trees blurred into one, the only clear thing in her focus the path. 

_Watch the treeline, they could appear at any moment._

Ada didn’t know how long they rode for, but she didn’t take her eyes off the path for the entirety of it.

Arthur had been maintaining a hard, steady pace, though he would slow when rounding corners and passing other travellers, and seemed to know when the horse needed a short rest. She saw the people they passed eye her as they rode away, but spared them no attention. 

They hadn’t spoken a word to each other.

Only when he slowed the horse to a walk did she realise the sun had started to rise, her knuckles were white from her grip on his coat and the path was now lined with thick shrubbery and tall trees, making it unrecognisable. They could be a few miles away from Strawberry, or on the other side of the country, she had no idea.

“Hey, who’s there? State your business!” a voice called suddenly, startling her.

In trying to turn her head to locate the source, she winced and hissed out a short breath, her neck painfully stiff.

“It’s Arthur, Bill, calm down.”

A bearded man stepped out from behind a tree, a shotgun in his hands. She stiffened, but Arthur just urged the horse on.

“The hero returns—” the man, Bill, began to say with a great deal of sarcasm, when his gaze landed on her, suspicion instantly clouding his features. “Who’s this?”

“None of your business, Bill.”

“It is my damn business, Morgan, and you know it is—”

Arthur clicked his tongue, the horse instantly quickening into a trot, and she heard Bill grumble a litany of curse words. Her attention was swiftly drawn from him, though, as they emerged into a large, open clearing. Unease crept up on her as her gaze darted across the array of tents, wagons and horses that covered the area, and people, men and women, sat around talking or working. She could hear music playing from somewhere; gentle, soothing music that wouldn’t have been out of place in a grand music hall.

There was a sense of… Calm.

That was not what Ada had expected from what she’d read about the band of outlaws in the newspapers, not at all, and that made her incredibly uneasy.

“Arthur!” A woman’s voice calling out made her jolt. Her eyes instantly found the source this time though as a blonde woman strode towards them, grinning.

The whole camp seemed to pause in their activities at realising he had returned, various greetings overlapping each other, and all eyes turned to them. Ada felt beads of sweat slide down her back as, in an unsettling contrast, a coldness overcame her, spreading from her scalp right down to the base of her spine.

She didn’t think there would be this many people.

Had she thought at all?

_No, you stupid, **stupid** woman, you haven’t thought any of this through, how could you be so stupid—_

The blonde woman rested a hand against the post Arthur had brought the horse to a halt at, her other hand on her hip, her grin still in place.

“You took your sweet time gettin’ back, Morgan. Thought the law had taken you.”

“They ain’t got me yet, Karen.”

Ada quickly released Arthur’s coat as he removed his feet from the stirrups and lifted a leg over the horse’s neck, sliding down to the ground. Exposed, her eyes met Karen’s.

The woman stared at her as her eyebrows shot up, her lips parting. “Sweet Jesus. Who’s this?”

“Yes, Arthur, who have you brought back from your travels?”

Tearing her gaze from Karen’s, she saw him.

_Oh, God…_

Approaching, a cigar in his hand, thumb tucked into his waistcoat pocket, was Dutch van der Linde.

Hands on her waist made her head whip to the side and automatically reach out to grab forearms before she realised it was Arthur helping her down, quickly lifting her leg over the saddle to aid him. Settling her on the ground, Arthur then released her, looking to the older man.

“This is Annie Sawyer, Dutch. I was up in Strawberry and there was some trouble. Colm O’Driscoll’s boys thought they’d have some fun. Whole town’s up in flames.”

“Dear God.”

Ada couldn’t help but stare at Dutch as he appraised her, her hands slightly curled, her shoulders stiff. Just from his appearance alone, ‘ _Gentleman Dutch_ ’ would be correct. His eyes then met hers. He smiled.

“Miss Sawyer, I’m Dutch van der Linde.” He removed his hand from his waistcoat and offered it to her. “I can guarantee you’ll be safe here.”

She took his hand firmly, holding his gaze. “I know who you are, sir.”

“She’s read all about us in the papers,” Arthur added from behind her, thinly veiled amusement lacing his tone.

She heard him huff out what might be a laugh as Dutch raised an eyebrow, shaking her hand, his grip gentle.

“Have you, indeed?” He released her hand, just as amused as Arthur. “You’ll have to tell us all about what they’re saying. I’m sure it’s wonderful.” He finally broke their gaze, sweeping it over her once more. “Now, though, we’ll get you food and clothes. Karen, will you kindly get Miss Grimshaw, please?”

Karen nodded, a kind smile having replaced the previous grin, already moving. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” Dutch shifted his stance as his own smile widened. “We’ll talk a little more later, Miss Sawyer, I’m sure you’ll want to rest now. Please, make yourself at home, Miss Grimshaw will take good care of you.” Looking behind her, he gestured for the younger man to follow as he began to walk away. “Arthur…”

Arthur glanced down at the woman as Dutch headed towards his tent. She hadn’t moved an inch since he’d taken her down from his horse, only to shake Dutch’s hand and even that had been stiff, as if she didn’t know how to coordinate her own body, and cleared his throat. “Lenny.”

The young man raised his head from where he was sitting a few feet away at a table, having been trying to hide his eavesdropping under the guise of enjoying his bowl of stew. “Yes, Arthur?”

“Will you get Miss Sawyer some water, please? Maybe let her have some of your stew while Karen finds Miss Grimshaw?”

“Sure thing.”

Arthur stepped around the woman as Lenny got to his feet and began to follow after Dutch.

He thought he heard her whisper a ‘ _thank you_ ’, but he didn’t pause to find out, not wanting to keep Dutch waiting. And he didn’t want her gratitude.

Lenny approached her with a warm smile as her gaze darted to him, a cup of water in his hand. It was his own but it would have to do. “Here you go, miss. Would you like to sit down?”

Her gaze fell to the cup, staring at it like she’d never encountered one before. Then, she reached out to it, her fingers uncurling, and accepted it from him, though she didn’t raise it to her lips. His smile faltered as his brow dipped, trying to catch her eyes with his. 

“Miss? You okay?”

She actually took a moment to consider his question, staring at the cup. 

That was a mistake.

Here, in the safety of this camp, surrounded by strangers who were showing her basic, decent kindness, her fear and adrenaline suddenly gone, the gravity of the situation finally descended upon her; nothing could now hold back the wave of emotions she had had to ignore.

“No. No, I’m not.”

She had killed a man. He’d deserved it but she had killed a man. The three people she held so firmly in her heart were gone. She was alone. She had no one. Her body ached, she was cold, mud clinging to her. She could feel her cheekbone throbbing from the kick back of the gun. No wonder people on the road had stared at her, and were staring now.

Dirt streaked feet and legs, her long auburn curls matted and flat from the smoke, her face pale, her eyes wide, a bruise blossoming across her cheekbone, her hands shaking, her once white robe now grey and brown and spattered with blood, blood on her, _blood_ was on her… 

“My gun.” Her voice sounded strange, even to her own ears. “I left my gun back there.“

“What?”

“I left… I left my gun back there. I shouldn’t have done that—”

“Miss—”

Her chest felt unbearably tight as her eyes suddenly darted around the camp, unable to focus on anything.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I shouldn’t have done that, I shouldn’t have done that—” She was gasping in breaths now as the cup fell from her hand, spilling water across her feet.

“Hey, hey, hey…” Lenny stared at her, catching her shoulders before quickly releasing her as she jerked away. "Miss, please, breathe, you have to breathe. Arthur? Arthur?!”

“I shouldn’t—” She batted his hands away with her trembling own as he reached for her again, releasing a strained, choked sound. 

She couldn’t breathe. Turning away from Lenny, she closed her eyes tightly but she couldn’t stop seeing Adam falling, blood pouring from his neck, or hearing Annie’s scream or seeing her mother… Seeing her… Seeing her…

_I am alone and it is my fault._

* * *

“So, you want to tell me what in the hell you were doin’ in Strawberry?” Dutch arched an eyebrow at him as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, placing the cigar between his lips.

Arthur exhaled a long breath as he placed a foot on the raised platform, hooking his thumbs into his gun belt. After all this time, he still felt like a kid whenever he had to explain himself. 

“I thought it would be best after the bank job in Valentine if me, Karen, Bill and Lenny split up, stop the law from trackin’ us here. Thought it would be easier to lose ‘em if I went west across the river and I did. I was meanin’ to collect a debt for Strauss, too, while I was up there, just plannin’ on maybe spendin’ the night in Strawberry or settin’ up a camp outside it when I heard shots.” He adjusted his position slightly, rolling his shoulders. “O’Driscolls were killin’ everyone, Dutch, it was a God damn massacre. I found her in a cabin.”

The other man exhaled a puff of smoke. "Where are her people?”

“Don’t think she had any. Town seemed deserted when we left so she either had none, they’re dead or they left her to fend for herself. She didn’t mention needin’ to find anyone or anythin’ like that.”

“Could’ve taken her to Valentine, or dropped her just outside of it. Hell, you could’ve dropped her in Rhodes.”

“Valentine would be too dangerous and you know it, ‘specially after the bank job. Besides, O’Driscolls could be ridin’ through there next. And Rhodes…” He trailed off, his jaw moving before he muttered, “I told her my name.”

Dutch raised his eyebrows. “And why in God’s name did you do that?”

“I needed her to trust me, she was aimin’ a damn gun at me.” Arthur ran a hand over his mouth, shrugging a shoulder. “She’s got steady hands, too.”

“Well, be that as it may, I figure you’ve done the right thing. Obviously can’t have the town findin’ out who we are if we want our next venture to go well.” Dutch took a long drag of the cigar, seemingly debating something. When he exhaled, he waved his hand slightly. “She can stay, of course, pull her weight like everyone else. It’ll be another mouth to feed but—”

“Like you say, save people as need savin’.”

Dutch chuckled, resting his hand on his knee. “I’m glad you still follow some of my teachings.”

Arthur’s lips twitched as he shook his head, shifting his weight to his other foot. “Yeah, yeah, you—”

“Arthur? Arthur?!”

Dutch and Arthur instantly turned at the sound of Lenny’s shout, hands going for their guns, when they saw him reaching out to Miss Sawyer who shied away from him, her hands raised slightly. Her chest was heaving and all the colour had drained from her face.

“Ah, shit…” Arthur immediately turned from Dutch, striding across the grass to the woman, his eyes fixed on her.

Dutch watched him go, raising the cigar to his lips once more.

* * *

“Miss Sawyer?”

Something strong gripped her upper arms and Ada’s eyes snapped open. Arthur stood before her, frowning as he searched her features and kept his grip tight on her.

“You need to breathe, all righ’? Take a deep breath.”

“Get _off_ me,” she demanded as panic surged within her, trying to push his hands away.

Mercifully, he quickly released her and nodded over her shoulder at someone, though she didn’t know or care who. Stumbling past him, she pressed her hand to her stomach as she moved, her throat feeling raw with suppressed emotion.

Reaching a wagon and realising she could walk no further, she leaned her shoulder against it, supporting herself, her entire body now shaking.

_Mama…_

She stared out at the water gently lapping at the small beach a short distance away, trying to focus on it, trying so hard not to think about all she’d lost, and failing.

She didn’t get to say goodbye. She didn’t get to see her. She should have stopped the men, she should have shot at them and stopped them—

“Miss Sawyer?” Arthur stood to her side, giving her some space, though she could feel his eyes on her and that was just as oppressive as if he were gripping her again. “Can you breathe?”

She shook her head slowly, taking harsh, shuddering breaths to try and calm her pounding heart and her burning lungs, keeping her eyes on the water. “I shouldn’t have told them to do it…”

“Do what?”

“It was my plan, it was so stupid, it was my fault and now they’re dead and I…” She couldn’t carry on as she finally drew in a full breath, and the tears finally came. 

Bowing her head, Ada covered her eyes with her hand as she wept.

_It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault,_ a voice chanted over and over in her mind.

She should have gone with them. She should have gotten into the wagon with them, she could have shot at the men from there, she had good aim, she could have shot them, there would have been no guilt in killing then, she would have been protecting her family, she _should_ have been protecting her family—

“Annie, what can I… Can I get you anythin’?”

His voice drew her back to the present. She didn’t want to think about the now, she couldn’t bear it. What was she to do? What purpose did she have now?

“Miss—”

“I just…” She broke off, her voice shaking to near incoherence. Dropping her hand from her eyes, she gasped in a breath as she began to massage her chest, trying to ease the pain clutching at her heart. She didn’t attempt to finish her sentence.

Arthur watched her as she tried to regain control of her breathing, his jaw moving slightly. He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. What made it worse was he could imagine all she had seen, all that might have happened, hell, he even knew how she was feeling, but he just couldn’t think of what to say.

It never got any easier.

“It’s all right now, miss,” he murmured after a few moments, repeating words he’d heard others say. “You’re safe here now, we’ll protect you. We ain’t gonna let them hurt you. None of what happened was your fault.”

Her features crumbled at that and she bowed her head again, her eyes closing. Instead of fresh tears appearing, however, the woman seemed to be battling with a Herculean effort to pull herself together.

Arthur shifted, the silence and her suddenly deep, steady breaths unnerving him slightly.

“I can—”

“You don’t have to be here.” She didn’t open her eyes, her voice stronger now. “You don’t have to try and make me feel better, it’s all right.”

That silenced him. She was right, and she was giving him the opportunity to be relieved of the duty.

He should have jumped at the chance, made a half-hearted attempt to comfort her once more for decencies sake before finding one of the women to hand her over to. He hesitated, though.

“Go.”

Her firm dismissal made his decision for him.

“All righ’.” 

After a moment, she heard him move away, the sound of his boots gradually lessening. Finally alone, all the tension left her body. Lowering to her knees with a long exhale, Ada leaned against the large wheel of the wagon, wrapping her arms around herself.

_Just stay here. Just stay here for a little while. Just keep your eyes closed and stay here. It’ll be all right. Stay here._

“Darlin’?”

_Please, please leave me alone._

Ada lifted her head and opened her eyes, looking up to find a woman older than Karen staring down at her, smiling kindly.

“Hello, darlin’, I’m Susan, Susan Grimshaw. How about you come with me and we get you cleaned up, hm?”

The woman held a hand out to her and her gaze fell to it. She knew she wasn’t going to be left alone. Numbness had now settled within her, too… and it seemed quite nice to have someone else make decisions for her.

“Okay.”

Placing her hand in the woman’s, Ada let her help her to her feet.

* * *

Water lapped gently before her. A light breeze blew her curls about her shoulders and arms. It was peaceful, the strangeness of it making the morning seem like an eternity ago.

After finding her, Miss Grimshaw had helped her to bathe in relative privacy behind a screen against a wagon with the help of a bucket of fresh water and cloth, and changed her into fresh undergarments and a clean, if slightly worn, brown skirt, _“Now, you got good, wide hips, not as big as Karen’s, but this should do, it’s one of her old ones,”_ and white blouse, _“broad shoulders, too, hm, but this should do, here’s a belt so we can actually see you got a waist!”,_ promising afterwards to find boots for her. Ada had then been ushered to a chair on the other side of the wagon.

A bowl of watery stew had been placed in her hands and she’d eaten little of it, finding it tasteless and her stomach threatening to rebel. Giving in and realising that would be it, Miss Grimshaw had taken the bowl with a slight frown, though thankfully no verbal admonishment, and had gently reminded her to let her know if she needed anything.

Then, she’d been left alone.

She’d stared down at her hands, still flushed pink from where Miss Grimshaw had had to scrub hard to wash the blood away, the intricately carved silver ring on her right middle finger gleaming.

She’d risen from the chair and stumbled to a nearby tree, nausea suddenly rising within her. Pressing her hand against the tree, she’d bent over and thrown up the meagre spoonfuls of the stew she’d had and whatever she’d had for supper the night before.

What had they eaten for their last meal?

_Don’t think about that._

She’d spent a few minutes dry heaving, nothing left in her. She’d trembled, trying to be as quiet as possible. No one came to her. Finally straightening, she’d wiped her mouth and lifted her gaze to the lake, calming her breathing.

Then, she’d walked forward, down onto the bank, and sat down on a fallen, dead tree, the sand and mud cold and damp beneath her feet but it didn’t matter; it grounded her.

And that’s where she’d sat for she didn’t know how long. It was barely away from the camp but the space was enough, enough that she couldn’t hear any voices, only the wind, birds and the occasional splash of a fish in the water. 

It sounded like home, and felt like purgatory.

A caged part of her mind kept needling at her to think _what next_ , but staring out across the lake was easier. It was warm, too. Calm and warm. Flowers would be blooming soon, the grass behind her was a beautiful, lush green—

“Hi.”

A child’s voice broke her out of her reverie, making her blink a few times. Turning her head, she found a young boy stood at the end of the log, a book in his hands.

“Hello.”

He looked to be five or six years old, and slightly put out.

“I like to read here.”

“Oh.” She actually found herself nearly going to stand to give him peace. “I’m sorry, would you like me to go?”

He shook his head, even as he gave a small sigh, and took a seat on the log, his legs dangling a little. “No, it’s okay. You look sad and I don’t want to make you sadder.”

Her lips twitched. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Mama said I have to be polite and remember my manners.”

“Well, she’s right, but you seem to be doing just fine.”

“Thanks.” That cheered him, a smile lifting his features as he swung his legs. “What are you sad about?”

Ada inhaled a long breath, clasping her hands in her lap as she tried to think of the right words, very much not wanting to have a discussion about mortality with a child.

“I can’t see my family anymore.”

Saying the words out loud, no matter how hard she was fighting to stay detached, made her clear her throat.

“Oh.” He tipped his head to the side. “Why not?”

“They’re… They’re not here anymore.”

“Have they gone to a different town?”

“Uhm… Yeah, something like that.”

“That’s okay.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, ‘cause we move a lot so maybe we’ll go to the same town as them and you’ll see them again.”

Ada couldn’t help but smile gently at how earnestly he said it.

“I suppose you’re right.”

The boy nodded, confident he was indeed right, and looked down at his book. “I’m gonna read now—”

“Jack!”

An exasperated, feminine voice sounded from behind them.

_How many more times am I going to be startled today before my heart gives out._

Turning, Ada watched a brown-haired woman stride down onto the bank and place her hands on the boy’s shoulders, guiding him up and turning him so she could bend and look at him.

“Jack, what did I say about leaving the new lady alone?”

“I know, Mama, I just wanted to read and she was already here, it wasn’t my fault.”

“He’s right,” Ada interjected gently as the woman opened her mouth, her gaze darting to her. “I’m afraid I’ve taken over his tree.”

Straightening, the woman smiled sheepishly, pushing her hair out of her face. “God, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have said he could go an’ read if I knew you were here. I hope he hasn’t been a nuisance—”

“No, it’s fine. He’s been lovely, he’s a lovely boy.”

He beamed at that, looking up at the woman. She glanced down at him, arching an eyebrow even as she smiled, and Ada noted the resemblance.

“I hope that doesn’t go to your head, young man, can’t have you endin’ up like your father.” 

He giggled as she dropped her hand and tickled his side, returning her gaze to Ada’s.

“Sorry, where are my manners, I’m Abigail, and this is my son, Jack.”

“It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Annie,” she added after a moment, a smile lingering on her lips as Jack squirmed away and ran back up the bank towards camp, still giggling.

"You, too, Annie.”

Then came the pause she dreaded as Abigail’s smile slowly vanished.

“I’m real sorry about what happened to you.”

There was that gentle tone she dreaded, too.

“Thank you,” Ada answered, the familiar, bizarre feeling to put the other person at ease rising within her as she forced her smile to remain in place. “It’s over now.”

“Yes, it is.” Abigail shook her head, anger clouding her features. “Those O’Driscolls are pure evil, they’re animals.”

“Yes, they are.”

“Anyway, you’re safe here. And if you need anythin’, I’ll be glad to help you.”

The smile became easier to maintain at Abigail’s genuine tone and earnest words that reminded her so much of Jack.

“Thank you, Abigail.”

The other woman nodded, before taking another pause.

“… Also, Dutch says he’d like to speak to you, when you’re up to it.”

_Christ…_

“Where is he?”

"In his tent. It’s the one playin’ the music.”

“Thank you.”

Ada heard Abigail bid her a good day but she didn’t reply, her mind already racing. She could predict the kind of questions he would ask, but how to answer them?

_‘Always stay as close to the truth as possible, my girl.’_

Smoothing her skirt down, she rose to her feet and straightened her back. Inhaling a slow breath, Ada steeled herself as she stared at the camp, then stepped around the tree and headed towards Dutch van der Linde.


	3. Welcome Wagon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

_Follow the music._

It reminded her of a poem she’d once read, about a pied piper who’d played his music to lead rats and children away.

Whether he judged her a rat or a child would be down to how she performed in the next few minutes.

_‘Stay as close to the truth as possible, my girl.’_

Wiping her hands on her skirt, Ada passed a small fire place. A man knelt stirring a pot suspended over it. He didn’t look up at her, just continued muttering to himself as he tasted the stew.

Another man did look at her, though, a blond man leaning against a large tree that seemed to be at the centre of the camp, a cigarette between his lips. He didn’t say a word, his eyes just followed her. She glanced at him, and his lips lifted. She looked away.

_Priorities. The leader first._

And there he was.

Dutch sat on a chair next to a record player, the music sounding gently from it, another cigar in his hand. Arthur stood in the centre of the tent, no longer wearing the coat she’d so tightly clung to, the sleeves of his faded blue shirt rolled up, his back to her. She faltered in her step slightly.

She’d been rude to him that morning. She hadn’t regretted sending him away but it didn’t exactly put her in his favour now, and she needed to pass the judgement of two now, rather than one. Arthur was often described as Dutch’s right hand man in the newspapers, so it was obvious the kind of sway he could hold.

What she couldn’t help but let bother her more, though, was that she had lost control in front of him. It had been years since she’d cried in the presence of someone else and here she’d done it in front of a complete stranger. Still, perhaps that would lean her character in his estimations towards being gentle.

_Or a normal person grieving._

Inhaling a slow breath, Ada cleared her throat as she stepped up to the tent.

“You wanted to see me, Mr van der Linde?”

Dutch lifted his head and smiled, sitting back in his chair. “Ah, Miss Sawyer.”

Arthur turned, and just nodded at her, as if they hadn’t shared a traumatic experience. Well, she supposed it was an every day occurrence for him, she just another victim caught in the cross-fire; his responsibility for her done.

“How do you do?”

Her gaze flicked back to Dutch as he spoke, a faint smile pulling at her lips. “Fine, thank you. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you. Please, sit.” He stood and brushed off the chair before stepping aside, moving to stand beside Arthur.

Stepping into the tent, Ada moved to the chair, sweeping her skirt under herself, and taking a seat, her back straight, her chin lifting. She noticed then, as she’d moved, so had Arthur and Dutch, the former now stood where she had, his boot propped against the foundation of the tent, the latter sitting on the edge of the bed. 

So, she was to be caged in. Perhaps a tactical move, perhaps subconscious. They weren’t new to this at all.

Folding her hands in her lap, she looked to Dutch.

“Now, I know this will be hard for you, Miss Sawyer, but I’d like you to tell me what happened last night.”

She licked her dry lips as she tightened her grip on her own hands. “Well, I couldn’t sleep last night so I went downstairs to get a glass of water. Then, I heard gunfire coming up from the town. We live…” She paused and licked her lips again. “We lived in a house behind the town so we didn’t know what was happening. Then I saw men with masks on coming up towards the house and I told my family to go out to the barn, we had a wagon in there, I thought it would be easy for them to get away but, uhm…” She cleared her throat. “I was going to stay behind, give them a chance to get away. We’d planned somewhere to meet in case of an event like this, so I was going to meet them there but… They killed my family. They shot them. My mother, my sister and our uncle. And then they came after me so I ran. I ended up in the centre of town but it was chaos. There seemed to be a shoot out at the Sheriff’s office so I went in the other direction, down the stream. A man tried to attack me so I shot him.” She faltered slightly, here, in her hurried retelling. “I had to. Then I ran and took cover in the cabin and that’s where Arthur and I encountered one another.”

She glanced at him as she finished, and he looked to Dutch a second after.

Dutch shook his head slightly as he gazed at her. “I’m truly sorry that happened to you, Miss Sawyer. Do you know why they attacked?”

Arthur huffed out a short laugh. “O’Driscolls don’t need a reason.”

“No, they don’t, but they had one this time.” She looked between the men now as she spoke. “The Sheriff and his boys captured a small group of them yesterday that had been loitering outside of town. They were going to be hung tomorrow, the Mayor was going to make a show of it to try and dissuade any future activity. Obviously, it didn’t work out.” 

“Tragically.” Dutch raised his eyebrows as he nodded, exhaling a long stream of smoke. “Do you have any other family members, anyone who might be concerned about you?“

She shook her head as she laced her fingers together. “No. My father passed away when I was a child, as did my brother nine years ago. There’s no one else.”

The older man shook his head with a deep sigh. “You’re a very brave young woman, Miss Sawyer. I won’t ask you to recall anymore painful memories. Thank you for your time.”

She nodded slightly, the faint smile returning to her lips.

“Like I said to you earlier, you’ll be safe here and looked after. Miss Grimshaw can find some things for you to do to keep your mind off of the awful events that have happened to you. We’re glad to have you here.”

“Thank you, Mr Van der Linde.”

“Please, call me Dutch.”

She inclined her head as she rose to her feet. “Then please call me Annie.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled. “You have yourself a good day now, and let me know if you need anythin’.”

Arthur watched her as nodded at him and exited the tent, his eyes following her.

He’d watched her the whole time she’d spoken.

Last night he’d seen her cold and ready to pull the trigger, and then mere hours later she’d broken down and wept, and then the coldness had overtaken her once more. Of course, not without reason, he knew the various ways people processed grief, but now she wasn’t under any extreme circumstances he could see the real her, and she was… not cold again, not exactly, but there was a guard up… and something there he couldn’t quite place.

Christ, he couldn’t figure her out. She was clearly educated from the way she spoke, but she could handle a gun, had kept her head in a gun fight, had even given him shit during it, but… Shit, he couldn’t put his finger on it. She was a walking contradiction.

Arthur would do anything to protect the camp and the people in it, and secretive, complex people upended the order of things. Still, time would tell, perhaps the guard she had up was a product of grief and being surrounded by strangers. Christ, she’d just been brought into the Van der Linde gang camp. Hell, he’d been in the gang so long he often forgot the kind of reputation they had and what idea it might give normal people.

_Stop thinkin’ so damn hard, you fool, it ain’t healthy._

He exhaled a long breath as he stepped up into the tent and took a seat on the chair she’d vacated.

“What d’you think?” Dutch asked, his cigar between his lips.

The younger man shook his head, stretching his legs out and crossing his ankles as he folded his arms. “It’s sad. She’s obviously in a lot of pain.”

“Indeed, but I meant about the O’Driscolls and their latest venture?”

Arthur arched an eyebrow, eyeing him. “What do _you_ think?”

Dutch smiled, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Colm don’t give a shit about his boys so we can assume the attack on the town was a display of power, or he doesn’t want the law finding somethin’ out from those boys. He’s hiding somethin’.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Somethin’ profitable, though, I am very certain of that.” Smoothing his moustache down with his thumb, Dutch nodded in the direction the woman had walked. “Keep an eye on Miss Sawyer. I get the feelin’ there’s somethin’ she ain’t tellin’ us, whether it’s important or not I want to know.”

So, his instincts had been right.

Nodding, Arthur drew his legs in and stood. “I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

And, like that, it was over.

She’d passed the judgement.

Her heart had pounded the entire time but she’d kept her breathing steady. Lord, she must have only been in there barely five minutes but it had felt like an eternity, every word she’d said being carefully chosen before she spoke it. She knew she couldn’t relax properly, though, until the next few days had passed. That would be the real test; if she could ingratiate herself into this group with no fuss and just… live her life.

There had been no asking her if she would like to stay. Did that surprise her so, though? She’d seen their camp, could probably roughly pinpoint where they were based upon the lake the camp overlooked.

No, she was to stay, the decision had been made for her.

Where the hell else was she supposed to go? Well, there was a place.

_No._

No, she would just have to take each day as it came. Mourn, move on, live. Build herself some sort of a life, starting now.

Returning to the wagon she’d been taken to earlier, Ada pushed a stray curl out of her eyes.

“Miss Grimshaw?”

The older woman looked up from where she was sewing a skirt, a smile quickly lifting her features. “Hello, dear, how are you?”

“Fine, thank you.” Ada stopped before her, clasping her hands in front of the belt at her waist keeping her skirt up. “I was wondering if I could perhaps help with any work?”

The older woman, entirely delighted, patted the stool beside her. “Yes, of course, dear, that would be wonderful. How are you at sewin’?”

“My mother taught me.”

“Oh, wonderful!” 

Once Ada had seated herself, Susan placed the skirt in her lap and handed her the needle. “There you go, sweetheart, you carry on fixin’ that. Lord, it’s nice to have a girl who actually _asks_ for work. I’m gonna see where those other lazy dead-weights have gotten to.”

 _Lord, I hope I don’t get on her bad side,_ Ada thought as she watched Susan stride away, barking out names.

It was an easy fix, two seams having come apart, but Ada gave it more focus than needed, happy to lose herself in making sure each stitch was perfect. Happy to not think about the past or the future for a little while.

Over the next few hours, Miss Grimshaw only disturbed her to ask once if she would perhaps like to take a nap, she must be tired, to which Ada declined and the other woman looked delighted once more, and to give her the next item to fix.

She sewed sleeves back on to their shirts, patched over holes in trousers and blankets, and reattached buttons.

She was left alone and that suited her fine. She could hear people carrying on with their work, laughing and talking to one another, and she was grateful no-one came to talk to her. Yes, she wanted to find her place in this group, to be fully accepted to make life easier, but for now she just wanted peace and quiet, and to avoid any questions. That seemed like the appropriate thing someone in her current situation would do.

The setting sun and calls for the whereabouts of stew finally made her lift her head. Rolling her shoulders and straightening her back, Ada flexed her numb fingers as she tipped her head back. Various muscles ached but it gave her a detached sense of satisfaction to see the pile of completed garments beside her. She’d completed something, no matter how menial it was, but she’d also proven her usefulness to this camp.

Placing the shirt she was halfway through aside, Ada massaged her hands as she watched the members of the camp congregate around the fire pit she’d passed earlier. The man she’d also passed earlier was once more knelt beside it, this time stirring a large pot and insisting it wasn’t quite ready.

“Come on, Pearson, it ain’t hard.”

“It just needs a few more minutes.”

“Since when did you care so much about how the food tastes?”

“Shut up and back off.”

A low whinny drew her attention away from the bickering. Beyond a tent, she saw Arthur atop his horse, trotting towards a hitching post. Red dust coloured his trousers and boots, and the legs of his horse; he must have been out most of the day. She watched him as he dismounted and tied the reins to the post, his lips moving. He stroked the horse’s neck gently, murmuring to it, and lifted his head, searching for someone. Turning his head, his eyes landed on her.

She swiftly averted her gaze.

“Hey, you want somethin’ to eat?”

The blonde woman, Karen, stood before her, a bowl of stew in each hand. Getting to her feet, Ada accepted one from her with a light smile.

“Yes, thank you.”

“No problem. Come over here and sit with me and the girls,” Karen continued, beckoning her with a twist of her head. “Otherwise Grimshaw’ll corner you and there goes your evenin’.”

“She’s been very kind to me.”

Karen snorted as Ada followed her away from the wagon, an eyebrow arched. “Yeah, you give it a few hours, honey, you’ll see the viper underneath.”

Nearing another fire pit with logs surrounding it, Ada saw the two other girls she’d glimpsed earlier, though couldn’t remember which one was named what. Karen rounded one of the logs and took a seat, shuffling over so Ada could sit beside her.

“Girls, this is Annie Sawyer. Annie, this is Tilly and Mary-Beth.”

They nodded and smiled at her in a familiar way that suggested they had already poured over and discussed the little details they knew about her. Ada sat as she smiled, their inclusiveness easing her a little. But was it for a reason, or just out of kindness?

“We’re real sorry about what happened to you.”

Ada looked to Tilly as she spoke, nodding slightly. “Thank you.”

“Those O’Driscoll boys are evil,” Mary-Beth added, the corners of her mouth turning down sympathetically. “I’m so glad they don’t come this far south.”

“Nah, we just got those Lemoyne Raiders to deal with here, and they sound like a real pain in the ass.”

“Who are they?” Ada asked Tilly, lifting a spoonful of stew to her mouth.

“Stubborn Southerners,” Karen interjected, to which Tilly raised her eyebrows as she shrugged a shoulder.

“Yeah, that about sums ‘em up.”

“Do you have much trouble with them?”

“No, not really. Well,” Mary-Beth tilted her head as she pursed her lips. “Arthur and Sadie had some trouble with them a couple of days ago, and Javier and Bill said they were ambushed by a small group. Think Arthur might’ve been threatened by them a few times, too, actually.”

Ada tried to memorise the faceless names as she nodded, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Not much trouble at all, then.”

Mary-Beth blinked, before a laugh suddenly burst forth from her. Tilly joined her, and Ada felt an underlying tension, most likely caused by her grief and their wish to not upset her, dissipate; there would be no need to tip toe around her.

Ada’s smile widened, and Karen added, with a grin of her own, “Yeah, they’re just a minor nuisance. Hardly noticeable at all.”

* * *

_I never thought I’d miss the God damn snow._

Arthur exhaled heavily as he guided Ophelia towards the hitching post close to his wagon. Heat he could usually handle, but sitting and walking out in it all damn day whilst trying to discreetly map out the Grey and Braithwaite lands was not his idea of a good time.

Dismounting with a soft grunt, he rolled his shoulders, feeling his shirt clinging to his back with sweat, and carefully lifted the reins over Ophelia’s head. Loosely wrapping them around the post, he stroked his hand along her neck.

“There’s a good girl,” he soothed her lowly, his other hand brushing down her forehead. “You had a fine day, didn’t you.”

Licking his dry lips, Arthur looked over to Dutch’s tent, hoping to find him sat on the chair or the bed. Finding it empty, he turned a little, scanning the camp for any sign of him. Nearly everyone was gathered around the stew, Dutch not among them. He didn’t usually take a bowl until everyone else had, anyway. His gaze drifting beyond the hungry members of the gang, it settled on Miss Sawyer, sat by the girl’s wagon, Karen holding a bowl out to her.

_Bein’ nice or nosey?_

He dropped his hands from Ophelia and moved to the nearby table.

“Kieran.”

Kieran lifted his head quickly, nearly dropping the pestle and mortar in his hands. “Uh, yeah? Hey, Arthur.”

“Hey, would you brush Ophelia down for me? I’ve gotta speak to Dutch.”

“Sure thing, I’ll do it now.” Shoving his chair back, Kieran stood, hastily gathering the pestle and mortar and uncrushed herbs into his hands.

“Thanks. You know where he is?”

“Uh, no, I ain’t seen him.”

“All righ’.”

“What do you want to talk to him ‘bout?”

Arthur arched an eyebrow.

Releasing a nervous laugh, Kieran then nodded swiftly and quickly strode towards Ophelia. Shaking his head, Arthur fished a packet of cigarettes out of his satchel and flicked it open with his thumb as he scanned the camp again. Drawing a cigarette out and placing it between his lips, he began to walk towards the lake, slipping the packet back into his bag. Maybe Dutch was having another one of his thinking sessions down on the bank, as Arthur was oft to find him.

Finding a pack of matches in his bag, he lit his cigarette as he passed Dutch’s tent, and inhaled long and slow as he shook the match to extinguish the flame before dropping it to the ground. Returning the pack to his bag, he squinted as the setting sun suddenly blinded him, emitting a muttered, “Christ…” as he took the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and removed it, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Raising his other hand to shield his eyes, Arthur looked to Dutch’s usual spot as he moved down onto the bank, and found it empty.

“Arthur!”

Turning at Susan’s voice, he inclined his head as she approached, that always just a little too sweet smile on her lips.

“Good evening, Arthur.”

“Good evenin’, Miss Grimshaw.” 

“Dutch has asked after you. He’s just gone to his tent.”

_Of course he has._

“All righ’, thank you. Hey, how’s Miss Sawyer been doin’?” he swiftly added as she began to turn, his voice lowered slightly.

Susan folded her arms as her eyebrows rose slightly. “Fine, actually. Well, quiet, but that’s to be expected after what she went through. She’s been workin’ all day, mendin’ things. She’s been a great help.”

_So you adore her and you’re never gonna let her leave._

“I’m glad to hear. Thank you, Susan.”

“No problem.”

Taking a drag of the cigarette as she strode away, Arthur headed in the opposite direction, back towards Dutch’s tent.

He’d wanted to see for himself how she would spend her first day in camp, whether she would do as Sadie had and isolate herself until she was ready to talk, or have another break down and cry for most of the day. However, Hosea had asked him to map out their current target’s lands to aid them and, well, that had seemed the priority. Besides, he couldn’t have hovered over her without it being noticeable, and he didn’t want to draw the camp’s attention to his and Dutch’s interest in the new member.

Clearing his throat as he rounded the tent to the opening, a chorus of feminine laughter mingled with Karen’s recognisable cackle suddenly erupted from the other side of camp.

Glancing over his shoulder with faint interest, he then paused.

Annie Sawyer was sat amongst Karen, Tilly and Mary-Beth and she was smiling. It was a real smile, too.

_Good._

It was the first thought that entered his mind, then followed closely by that faint unease again.

_And not expected._ _Grief makes us all do strange things… Includin’ not grievin’ at all._

“Ah, Arthur.”

Turning to Dutch, he nodded as he stepped into the tent.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” Dutch gestured to the chair opposite him, placing his book beside him on the bed. “It concerns our dear Mr Trelawney.”

“Fantastic.”

Laughter echoed across the camp once more as Arthur took a seat, closing his mind to it.


	4. The Underrated Joys of Escapism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

Conversation had flowed more easily after that. The girls informed her of the lack of feminine products at the general store in the nearby town of Rhodes and she learned that she should indeed stay on Miss Grimshaw’s good side. In fact, they delighted in filling her in on exactly what everyone was like in the camp.

“… Do _not_ give Bill a compliment, he’ll think you’re in love with him…”

“… Make Charles laugh and I’ll give you fifty dollars, I swear…”

“… You’ll probably be woken up every mornin’ by Abigail yellin’ at John, who probably deserves it…”

“… Oh, Lenny’s just so sweet, I just don’t quite know what I want to do with him—” 

“ _Karen_ …”

“… Arthur’s a little gruff, but a sweetheart, really.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s a real sweetheart,” Mary-Beth enthused, her smile widening. “I mean, he rescued you, didn’t he? That’s how sweet he is.”

“Yes, that was very kind of him,” Ada agreed, keeping her smile easy.

_Please don’t ask me, please don’t—_

“So, how’d he do it, what happened?”

_Oh, Christ._

She’d hoped the personal questions would have waited at least another day or so, but, with her wide smile and big eyes, Mary-Beth was obviously sweet on Arthur, and eager to hear of his heroic deeds, a fact further proven by Karen and Tilly sharing a glance, their lips twitching.

_Noted._

“Uh, he found me in a cabin. I’d escaped from my home and hidden in there. We were then pinned down by gunfire but he threw dynamite out of the window to give us a chance to escape.”

“I love a man who just happens to carry ‘round dynamite,” Karen drawled.

“Oh, is that so, darlin’?”

Ada’s head whipped up at the Irish accent, her back stiffening.

A man with shoulder-length ginger hair grinned at them, his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I guess I better start carryin’ ‘round some dynamite in me pocket. Though, that could be dangerous.”

“What would it blow off, exactly,” Karen retorted as she lifted a bottle of whisky to her lips, an eyebrow arched.

“Your favourite past-time, darlin’.”

The man laughed as she rolled her eyes and winked at her before his blue eyes settled on Ada’s own.

“Hello, we haven’t been introduced.”

“Sean, this is Annie Sawyer. Arthur rescued her from Strawberry,” Mary-Beth beamed.

“Is that right? The grumpy bastard does have a heart, then,” Sean chuckled, holding his hand out to her. “It’s nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“You, too,” Ada smiled warmly as she accepted his hand, though her heart pounded in her chest.

_What in the hell is an Irish man doing here? A former O’Driscoll? Oh, calm **down** , not every Irish man is an O’Driscoll._

With a flourish, Sean took her hand in a gentle grip and bent at the waist, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

“Jesus…” Karen muttered beside her as Ada made her smile widen a little more. “Trust me, darlin’, he’s no gentleman.”

“Oh, love, I’ll be a gentleman if you want me t’ be.” Releasing Ada’s hand, his eyes had already darted to Karen. “You know I can be.”

“Mmh, I’m sure I don’t.” Karen pressed her lips together.

“We’ll see, won’t we.” Winking at her again, his attention then returned to Ada, her eyes still fixed on him. “Welcome to the camp, darlin’. Let us know if you need anythin’. And may I say, what lovely fire-y hair you have, almost as lovely as mine.”

“Oh, thank you.” She involuntarily tucked a few curls behind her ear, her stomach twisting slightly.

“Well, ladies, I shall leave ye to ye’re evenin’.” 

Bowing low, the girls snorted as he backed away before straightening and turning on his heel, whistling a tune to himself.

“Well, that’s Sean,” Karen muttered, shaking her head as she took a sip of whisky. “The bane of my life.”

“Ain’t they perfect for each other,” Tilly stage-whispered to Ada, making Karen shoot a glare at her as Mary-Beth broke into laughter again.

* * *

Twenty four hours earlier, she’d been in the same position. With a couple of changes.

Lying on her back on a blanket instead of a bed, she was staring at cloth instead of a canopy.

What had remained the same, though, was that she was unable to sleep.

Rather relieved at feeling tired, she had excused herself shortly after Sean had introduced himself and found Miss Grimshaw by the girl’s wagon to politely ask her where she may be able to sleep. The older woman had gestured behind her, whereupon Ada realised she would be sharing a patch of barely covered ground with some of the other girls.

She’d done as directed, lying on her side beside Tilly who was also settling down. Karen and Mary-Beth had lain on the blanket shortly after, and they’d both soon fallen asleep.

Ada hadn’t even closed her eyes. The day had seemed endless, as if fate had been forcing her to stay locked forever in the worst day of her life. She should have fallen asleep instantaneously, gratefully fallen into an unconscious slumber from grief and exhaustion. The sounds of trees and insects and people were all too unsettling, though, too unfamiliar. The camp was quiet, a few members of the group having a murmured conversation a little way off around the fire they’d eaten at. She didn’t know who the voices belonged to, not having been introduced to anyone else.

Her mind wouldn’t quieten, either. It kept chanting at her to make a plan, but how could she when she had no control or choice?

It needled at her, making her spine prickle so she’d have to turn every few minutes. She might have dozed here and there, but it was very light, bodies and blood filling her mind, every sound making her eyes snap open, and when the sun had started to rise she’d given up completely and found herself once more sat on the fallen tree, staring out at the lake.

_Maybe at noon I’ll collapse and finally get some rest. That would be nice._

“You okay?”

_Good God, there are people everywhere._

Looking up, a woman she hadn’t seen before approached from down the bank, a tin cup in her hand. Her blonde hair, darker than Karen’s, was braided and twisted over her shoulder, and she had a bright mustard blouse on, tucked into brown trousers.

Ada smiled instantly, inhaling a long breath as she straightened her back. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you. Just woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

The woman hummed as she sipped from the cup, and took a seat beside Ada.

“I’m Sadie.”

“Annie.”

Sadie nodded, holding the cup between both hands. “I’m sure people have been offering their condolences, and I would but… Well, I know it don’t help that much.”

Sadie gave a faint smile as Ada looked at her, not having caught her surprise in time for it not to show.

“I lost my husband recently. The O’Driscolls killed him. These guys rescued me, too. I was a mess. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. Didn’t feel much like livin’ for a little while, actually, but… you just have to keep goin’, don’t you. Find somethin’ worth livin’ for.”

A corner of Ada’s mouth lifted. “I guess that’s why I’ve not been able to sleep.”

“You just need time. You’ll figure it out.” Sadie gently nudged her with her elbow. “You seem to be doing okay though, it’s good that you’re talkin’ to people, I saw you chattin’ with the girls.”

She smiled lightly. “Well, it’s a nice distraction.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. You’ll be fine, though. From what Arthur said, it sounds like you can really handle yourself with a gun.”

Ada exhaled a laugh as her eyebrows rose. “Well, I’m no Black Belle but, yeah, I’m not too bad.”

Sadie chuckled, a husky, rich sound, and arched an eyebrow. “Maybe we can do some shootin’ together sometime. Show these boys how it’s done.”

“I’d like that.” 

And Ada found that she meant it. The other women were lovely and kind to her, of course, but it was a welcome relief to be able to talk candidly with someone who understood.

“All right, then, I look forward to it.” Sadie tapped a nail against her cup and stood, rolling her shoulders back. “Hey, maybe we can do some practise shootin’ on some O’Driscolls.”

Ada watched her head up towards the camp, and the manners her mother had tried to drum into her made her feel a twinge of guilt at not offering her condolences about Sadie’s husband but, as the other woman had said, how would it help? No, it was enough that they understood one another.

Shared trauma was a strangely comforting occurrence.

Sadie passed Miss Grimshaw and they nodded at each other, that tight, sugar sweet smile on Susan’s lips. 

“Mornin’, Mrs Adler.”

“Good morning, Susan.” Sadie’s overly bright tone made Ada’s lips twitch; she was very much warming to her.

She swiftly softened her expression, however, when Miss Grimshaw caught sight of her, her smile widening as she approached.

“There you are. Oh, honey, you look beat!”

_Wonderful. Thank you, Susan._

“Did you get any sleep at all?”

Ada stood, unsure as to whether the older woman’s concern was genuine or she was worried about her new worker already being down for the count, and shrugged lightly.

“Oh, yes, I got a couple of hours. It’s just, I’m getting used to it, I suppose, being here.”

Susan gave what she probably thought was a sympathetic expression. “Yes, new places can be a little unsettlin’ at first. But we move a lot so you’ll have to get used to it.”

Ada’s chest tightened. Of course they’d have to move a lot, they were on the run from the law, she knew that, but there it was, the suppressed panic that she had no choice, that the routine would change before she could adapt.

“Oh, I’m sure I will. I’m sure I’ll sleep well tonight, too.”

“Mhm. Well, follow me, honey,” Susan gestured for her to follow with her hand, “We got piles of washin’ to do to keep you occupied in the meantime. And I found you some boots!”

_Wonderful._

* * *

Days passed without incident, and Ada settled in, much to her relief, more easily than she had anticipated, swiftly establishing a routine. She would wake early, talk with Sadie or Abigail over breakfast as they were usually awake at sunrise, too, then carry out whatever tasks Miss Grimshaw deemed important for that day. She heard snatches of information, or Karen just told her outright; currently there was something going on in the local town with two large families that despised each other. 

“We’re playin’ ‘em both like a fiddle,” Karen had grinned.

Her intuition to not tell them her real name was correct, then.

She kept mainly to talking to the group of women, the men seemingly either always out on ‘business’ as they called it or sat around the camp halfheartedly carrying out various tasks, but she was gradually introduced to everyone.

Ada swiftly discovered Sean had never had any association with the O’Driscolls; there was completely and utterly no way he could have. Colm would never allow a man who talked as much as he did to be in the gang. He made her laugh, though, and gifted her, with enough flourish to make Karen sigh wearily, a small knife which she kept tucked into her belt. She apologised to Lenny the second evening she had been there and thanked him for being so generous. He’d shaken his head dismissively with a warm smile and said not to worry about it. She’d warmed to him completely as they’d eaten their stew, talking about inane things like the weather or what bread they liked best.

Charles, John, Bill, Pearson, Strauss and Javier had greeted her quietly and kept to themselves, the Reverend Swanson had stumbled past her the next morning, and Uncle had sat next to her at her third dinner and started singing loudly, to which everyone joined in. Hosea had talked with her that same evening, offering his condolences and asking her non-invasive questions about herself that she answered truthfully. After discovering she enjoyed reading and she missed her books, they had discussed their favourite novels, and then the next morning he gave her a book, a gesture so touching from the old con man that she had nearly wanted to embrace him.

As for Dutch and Arthur, she hadn’t spoken to either of them since they’d talked in Dutch’s tent and that suited her fine. Dutch kept to his tent, reading or talking with the men, and Arthur left early every morning and returned in the late evening.

She was, surprisingly yet mercifully, finding that she liked this band of outlaws and, with their seeming acceptance, felt she could breathe a little easier now. 

It took Micah, the man who’d watched her as he’d leaned against the tree, to bring her back to reality.

It was the morning of her fifth day of being in the camp and she was repairing an old blouse Susan had given her to have. She was using strips of material she’d found and was trying to do her best with what was turning into quite an unusual assortment of colours and patterns, needing a new blouse to wear as dust and sweat was starting to make wearing her current one unpleasant.

_This damn heat. I miss rain._

A shadow suddenly fell across her.

Blinking, Ada glanced up.

“Hello, Mr Bell.”

He smiled at her, in that vaguely unnerving way, his eyes fixed on her, and nodded.

“Good morning, Miss Sawyer. What are you up to?”

“Oh, I’m just fixing a blouse. I’m in need of a new one.” She smiled politely as he sat beside her, suppressing her lack of delight.

He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning into her space to inspect her stitching. Her jaw moved slightly as she sat back to create some distance and he huffed out a laugh of amazement as he too sat back.

“That’s fine work, Miss Sawyer, you can barely notice the stitches. You’ve got a talent for it.”

“Thank you, Mr Bell.”

His smile, having lingered, widened now as he tilted his head “Please, call me Micah.”

Her polite smile lingered too, restrained. “All right, then.”

“I hope you’ll accept my apologies for not having talked with you sooner. I didn’t want to intrude upon you at such a difficult time.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Micah.”

_Now please leave._

He fell silent, just looking at her, and she resented herself for doing so but she couldn’t stop her smile from widening as she searched for something to say. Just as she was about to open her mouth to ask him about his day, his hand went to her knee, and squeezed it so lightly.

“If you need anything, Miss Sawyer, anything at all, you can come and ask me.”

She stiffened, her mind going blank for a moment or two. She could feel the heaviness of his touch on her, of his eyes on her, and she couldn’t think what to do.

There was no doubt in what he was implying.

“Take your hand off me, Micah.”

Something flashed behind his eyes at her calm, low words. She held his gaze, her body still.

Then, he laughed, dropping his hand from her as he leaned back.

“Miss Sawyer, you are a surprise, ain’t you. Not quite the pretty little meek flower I was hoping for. That’s a shame.” He smiled. “More… entertainin’, though.”

He stood then, much to her masked relief, but just as she thought he was going to turn away, he looked to her again, his tongue running along his teeth.

“You know, Arthur and I were in your pretty little town not too long ago. Gave you all quite the show. I’m very grateful you didn’t get in the middle of it.”

He then nodded at her, and walked away, whistling to himself. She stared at his back, her lips parting as a held breath rushed out of her. She felt cold sweat sliding down her back, her hands frozen.

A man had been broken out of jail only a few weeks ago by another man and they shot all who’d been in their path. Skinny and Maddy had been killed in their cabin. She used to talk with them in the store and used to help Maddy braid her hair. Maddy got excited about the spring and liked to watch out for flowers every day, she was going—

“Good mornin’, sweetheart.”

She snapped back to attention, her eyes darting up to watch Sean walk towards her, that wide, lopsided grin on his face.

It fell slightly at her expression.

“You all righ’, darlin’?”

She nodded swiftly as she dropped the blouse to the floor, wiping her damp hands on her skirt. “Yes, sorry, you just startled me.”

“Uh-huh.” He eyed her, his gaze darting over to Micah who was seating himself at a table a little way off, unsheathing a knife from his belt. “You were talkin’ wi’ Micah just now, weren’t ye?”

“Yes, he was just introducing himself.” Clearing her throat, she smiled. “What business are you getting up to today?”

Ignoring her deviation, he sat beside her, an unusually serious expression taking over his features.

“You know,” he started, lowering his voice. “If he gives you any kind o’ trouble you let me know, all righ’?”

She arched an eyebrow, her smile widening as she ignored the faint tightening in her chest. “You? And what will you be able to do about it, Sean MacGuire?”

He laughed, the easy demeanour returning. “Oh, sweetheart, there’s a reason there’s a bounty on me head.”

“Didn’t you just happen to be there as the gang robbed places?”

“Oh, you wound me, ye really do. Here I was about to invite ye on a day out.” He shook his head mock-sadly as she perked up, her mouth opening a little wider.

“A day out?”

“Aye.” He side-eyed her, sighing faux-dejectedly. “I thought ye might like to come into town wi’ me, be reminded there’s an actual world out there.”

She almost laughed at the excitement that roused within her. Yes, she felt safe and confident with her routine, but… Lord, she was growing restless. There was only so far she could wander in this camp and this invitation felt like a strange sort of permission that she did indeed have some freedom. And freedom overrode any sort of need for security.

_Why, though?_

Her eyes then narrowed slightly as some of the excitement ebbed away.

“… What’s the catch?”

He held his hands up, his eyebrows raising. “No catch, darlin’. Just don’t want ya goin’ crazy… ‘nd maybe ye could get a new shirt instead of… whatever the hell that is you’re makin’.”

She pressed her lips together as she weighed the pros and cons, thought about everything that could go wrong, thought about if she could take Sean in a fight, if it came to it…

No, everything was surface level with Sean. This had to be genuine and thank _God_ for it.

“I would be _delighted_ to join you, Sean.”

He grinned, practically nearly jumping to his feet as he held a hand out to her. Undeterred as she batted his hand aside and stood unaided, he began to stride towards the scout camp up on a small hill to the north of the main camp. Following after him, she kept her gaze straight ahead as they passed Micah, though he was too focused in his game of five finger fillet to notice them.

Striding up the hill, he gestured at the small pack of horses, flinging his arm out.

“Pick yourself a horse.”

Her eyebrows rose as she looked to him. “Any one?”

“Yep. Any one without a saddle.”

She blew out a breath as she looked back to the horses, taking a few steps closer to them. They didn’t lift their heads from their grazing, used to people moving about amongst them. She studied each one in turn, assessing their build and matching them against each and every scenario she could think of in her head.

“Jesus, get a move on will ye or you’ll be sharin’ wi’ me.”

“Oh, Lord…”

Hearing him laugh behind her, Ada’s lips twitched and she moved towards a bay horse at the back of the group, it’s head lifting, hay hanging out of it’s mouth. It watched her, it’s ears twitching as it chewed.

“Hello,” she murmured, reaching a hand out slowly and settling it on it’s neck.

The horse turned it’s head a little closer towards her, sniffing at her. She held her hand out, allowing it to sniff. 

“He’s a real nice one.”

A dark haired man, slightly scrawny looking man she knew to be called Kieran stood on the other side of the horse, smiling somewhat nervously at her as he stroked down the horse’s back. He spoke quickly but earnestly.

“He’s quiet and calm and ain’t too much trouble, I think you’ll like—”

“Jesus Christ, Kieran, what are ye doin’ lurkin’ amongst the horses? You been shaggin’ ‘em again?”

“I don’t shag, _sleep_ ,” Kieran corrected himself swiftly, glancing at Ada, “with the horses, Sean, you know I don’t.”

“I don’t know what the hell you do, O’Driscoll, and I don’t dare ask. Toddle off and get her a bloody saddle, would ye.”

_O’Driscoll?_

Ada stared at Kieran as he muttered under his breath and moved between the horses, her hand frozen on the horse. He seemed to sense her sudden agitation, his ears twitching again as he shifted slightly, his head turning towards her once more.

Sean chuckled behind her as he approached, stroking his fingers down the horse’s forehead as his muzzle nudged against her forearm.

“That’s our camp freak, he…” He trailed off as he glanced at her, noting her tight features. “You all righ’, sweetheart?”

_Get a hold of yourself._

“Yeah, fine.” She smiled as she stepped back from the horse as Kieran returned, watching him settle a faded blanket over his back before placing a saddle on it.

Sean watched her watch him, and she heard him curse under his breath.

“Oh, shit, I wasn’t thinkin’,” he murmured, standing beside her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, he _was_ with the O’Driscolls but he saved Arthur’s life and is with us now. We give him a hard time but he’s fine.”

She just nodded, watching as Kieran tightened the straps and adjusted the stirrups. Then, she turned to Sean and smiled widely.

“Shall we get out of here?”

He grinned, tugging on a curl of her hair as he passed her. “Aye, let’s get away from these degenerates.”

After securing a bridle to the head of the horse, Kieran handed the reins to her with the same nervous smile.

“Thank you,” she said automatically, meeting his gaze for a moment, before she turned away, murmuring gently to the horse, “Come on.”

Leading him away from the group, Ada followed after Sean, very much ready to be distracted.

“What’re ye gonna call him?” he asked as he mounted his buckskin horse, gathering the reins into his hands.

“I don’t know.” Also mounting, Ada patted the horse’s neck, allowing him a moment or two to get used to the weight of her. “I don’t know his character yet.”

“Well, we’ll see what he’s like in the kind of trouble we get up to.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I’m not looking for trouble today, Sean.”

He grinned as he urged his horse into a walk, Ada doing the same. “All righ’, all righ’, just some light tomfoolery, then. Who should we be?”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t like to use our real names often in places for obvious reasons, so who shall we be?” He nodded at Lenny, the scout for the east entrance to the camp, as they passed him, who frowned slightly and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Sean continued, raising his voice a little as he pressed his horse into a trot. “I say we could pass as brother and sister, twins even, with our gorgeous red hair ‘nd blue eyes.”

Ada laughed as her horse drew level with his, her brows raising. “You’ll have to copy my accent, then.”

Sean mock-gasped in horror. “How dare you suggest such a thing. We’re plainly Irish. Let’s hear you do the accent.”

“Sean.”

“Come on.”

“Sean—”

“Either that or you’re a mute and have to let me say what I like—”

“Oh, fer fuck’s sake, that’s the last thing we need.”

He threw his head back with a laugh as they emerged from the trees and turned onto a larger path. “Jesus Christ, a brilliant accent _and_ a curse, are ye tryin’ to make me fall in love wi’ ye woman?”

“That would be incest, dear brother,” she grinned, maintaining the accent.

“Aye, but I think they like that down here.”

She laughed as he urged his horse into a canter, prompting her to do the same.

“How’d ye get so good at the accent anyway?”

She snorted. “Oh, you’ll just laugh.”

“Oh, now you have to tell me.”

Ada slid her gaze over to him, trying not to smile as he grinned.

“I used to practice accents I heard as a child, to entertain myself.”

Sean laughed, thoroughly delighted. “Ye didn’t have many friends, did ye.”

“What gave it away?”

It was only a short ride to the town of Rhodes and Sean talked the whole way, informing her of what little there was to do in the town, but she revelled in every moment. She felt she could breathe a little easier away from the eyes of the camp, and passing workers in a field, seeing _other_ people, made the world feel wide and full of possibilities once more. Perhaps she could leave at some point. Perhaps she could think of a plan sometime soon. Perhaps. It was a short ride of freedom but she grasped it with both hands.

They slowed their horses as they passed a sign that read ‘ _Welcome to Rhodes_ ’, and Sean led them towards a hitching post infront of the general store. Sliding down from the saddle, Ada pulled the reins over her horses’s head and tied them securely to the post before she surveyed the main street. It wasn’t long but there was the usual necessities, the general store, the Sheriff’s Office and jail, the gunsmith, an undertaker’s and a bank. People bustled about, carrying packages or buckets, wagons and horses came up and down the street and people sat and talked on porches, their voices carrying.

“Right.”

Sean’s cheerful voice pulled her from her observations and she turned to him, finding him also observing the street, a certain glint in his eye.

“Why don’ you go into the store and get yerself somethin’.”

Ada arched an eyebrow as she stroked her horses’s neck. “I don’t have any money, Sean, and I don’t fancy lookin’ at things I can’t afford.”

Shaking his head, Sean shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, holding them out to her.

“Here, get yerself somethin’ nice.”

Staring down at his hand like he was pointing a gun to her, Ada noted they were all dollar coins. 

“Sean, I can’t accept that.”

He tutted and pushed his hand closer towards her. “Ah, shut up and buy yerself somethin’ pretty.” When she didn’t move, still staring, he tutted again and took her hand with his other one, carefully dropping the coins into her palm and making her fingers close over them. “I’ve got some business to attend to, when you’re done just sit out here, I won’t be long.” He started to turn away then paused, looking back at her and lowering his voice. “Oh, and steal somethin’.”

That pulled her out of her daze.

“Excuse me?”

He smiled, holding his hands out slightly. “Ye with thieves now, darlin’. Ye’ve got to fit in.”

She placed her free hand on her hip, arching an eyebrow. “I’m not going to steal something, Sean.”

“Why?”

_“Why_?” she scoffed. “Because it’s not right.”

“And?”

_Oh, dear Lord._

“ _And_ the shopkeeper needs to make a living.”

He laughed. _Actually_ laughed at her. “It’s nothin’ personal, Annie. We’ve all gotta make our way in this world.”

_Christ…_

She’d heard that before.

He took her long, exhaled breath as a, resigned, agreement, and patted her arm. “Good. Now, don’t forget, you’re as Irish as good whisky, dear sister. Enjoy!”

She watched him stride away in the direction of the gunsmith and exhaled another breath. The weight of the coins in her hand made her look down at it again and she uncurled her fingers a little to count the coins.

_Twenty dollars. **Twenty.**_

“Jesus…” she breathed, suddenly very much aware she was just holding _twenty dollars_ in her hand. Turning to her horse, she rooted around in the saddlebag with her free hand, hoping to find something to hold the coins in. Feeling cloth brush against her fingers, she pulled out a bandanna and clumsily fashioned a make-shift purse, carefully pouring the coins into it and tying all the corners together.

Glancing around the street, Ada then made her way up the steps and into the store. A bell tinkled as she pushed the door open, prompting the shopkeeper to lift his head, his gaze sweeping over her. After assessing her, he smiled warmly, straightening his back.

“Good afternoon, miss.”

“Good afternoon, sir,” she answered, returning his smile as she approached the counter, her accent perfect.

“Is there anythin’ in particular you’re looking for?”

“Yes, I was wonderin’ if you had any blouses?”

“We got plenty of men’s blouses, miss, but no women’s, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” she waved her hand dismissively, widening her smile. “Anythin’ will do fer me, I’m not picky.”

“Just over in that corner there, then, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Moving to the shelves he’d indicated, she smiled to herself as she slid her fingers over a shirt, feeling the material.

_If Mama could see me now._

* * *

Ada watched the people and horses passing by, her hands folded on her lap, covering her coin purse, her thumb idly pushing her ring around her finger, a parcel at her side. A light breeze blew and she inhaled a long breath. She kept her mind clear, just focusing on what was around her.

It was so wonderful, to be so calm. To be so free.

She could be anyone she wanted right now, an Irish woman waiting for her brother, a nameless woman enjoying the afternoon, a person waiting for their friend or lover. She understood Sean’s joy for it now. It was intoxicating to present whatever version of yourself you wanted to to the world, to have no expectations placed upon you.

“My darlin’ sister!”

Realising she’d closed her eyes, Ada opened them to find Sean beside his horse, beaming at her.

“Come on, Ma will be expectin’ us home.”

One corner of her mouth lifting higher than the other, she gathered the coin purse and parcel into her hands and moved down the steps to her horse. Lifting the flap of the saddlebag, she placed the coins inside along with the parcel and secured it tightly. Climbing up into the saddle, Sean already atop his horse, they turned their horses onto the road, heading out of the town.

“So, what’d ye steal?”

Her eyes widening at his jovial tone, she glanced over her shoulder. “Keep your voice down, you…”

“Curse at me again, go on.”

“ _No_.”

“Fine. What did you get?”

Tossing her curls over her shoulder, she gestured at her saddlebag. “I _bought_ a new blouse… and stole an apple.”

The widest grin she’d seen on him yet spread across his features as his head whipped to the side to look at her. “You bloody did it?! Ha! That’s my girl! It’s not gold or jewellery but it’s a start, I s’ppose. Where is it?”

She resisted the urge to be pleased with herself, keeping control of her smile. “I didn’t think it would make you this happy. I gave it to Faithful.”

“Who the bloody hell’s Faithful?”

She patted Faithful’s neck, her lips twitching.

“The bloody horse is Faithful? Oh, Jesus…” He shook his head as he sighed. “Right, and why Faithful?”

She, unsuccessfully, tried to hide a grin. “To remind me to be faithful to my morals.”

“Jesus Christ, right, let’s get you back to bloody camp so we can make a real thief of ye.”

Her laugh carried across the fields as they kicked their horses into a canter, dust rising in their wake.

As they reentered camp, Ada found she was still smiling. She felt lighter, her situation not so impossible now. It was incredible what less than an hour of normality could do. Well, near normality.

Dismounting at the nearest posts they came to, she pulled the reins over Faithful’s head, loosely wrapping them around the pole.

“Good boy, thank you,” she murmured as he snorted, tossing his head a little.

“You are most welcome.”

“Not you, Sean.”

“I don’t get a little thank you for takin’ ye out on the town?”

A smile pulling at her lips, she turned to him. “Thank you, Sean. I mean it.”

Grinning, he inclined his head. “You’re welcome, darlin’ Annie. Oh, and, hey, I got ye this…”

Reaching into his saddlebag, he pulled out some sort of crumpled emerald green material.

“The colour of our homeland, dear sister.”

Taking it from his offered hand, it unfurled to reveal a blouse.

Beaming, her mouth dropped open as her gaze darted up to him.

“Oh, Sean, it’s beautiful. Where did you get it? I didn’t see a tailor’s.”

He just looked at her, having the good grace to look the barest amount of sheepish.

“You _stole_ it?!”

“Why anyone would leave a pretty thing like that out to dry I’ve no clue.”

_“Sean.”_

“What, it’s their fault!” He held his hands out innocently, all sheepishness gone as he grinned roguishly.

Exhaling a short breath, she fought hard to not imitate his infectious smile. “There’s no point in telling you to take it back is there?”

“Absolutely no point at all.”

“Lord…” Still keeping a grip on the blouse, Ada shook her head and reached into her saddlebag, retrieving the coin purse and parcel. “Fine, I’ll keep it.”

“There’s hope! We’ll make a proper thief of ye yet, sweetheart, you just wait.” He nudged his shoulder against hers as they moved around the horses.

_“I_ didn’t steal it.”

“Whatever makes you sleep tonight, darlin’.”

“Well, here, this will.” She held the bandanna-wrapped coins out to him.

Sean made a dismissive sound as his brow furrowed. “Ah, no, Annie, you keep it. A little ‘welcome to camp’ gift from me.”

“The blouse can be that gift. And this certainly isn’t little.” She pushed it further towards him.

“Nah, that was a ‘welcome to town’ gift.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as they came to a stop before the path. “Well, then, how about you look after it for me.”

Raising his eyebrows, he looked down at the purse, then back up at her. 

“I think I can do that,” he smiled, his fingers closing around the material, and in a flash he had it in his pocket.

“Yes, I thought you might…”

Ada trailed off as the sound of hooves suddenly thundered down from the north path. Both of them taking an automatic step back, they watched as Charles and Arthur stormed into camp, pulling their horses into an abrupt halt that had them skidding in the dirt slightly.

“Miss Grimshaw, Mr Pearson, your assistance, please!” Arthur called as he swiftly dismounted before striding around his horse to Charles’s.

Ada then saw the man sat behind Charles, his head lolling to one side. Arthur helped him down as Charles supported him from his position, gripping his shoulder, and as his head rolled back she saw the bruises and blood that covered him.

“One of yours?” she murmured to Sean, continuing to watch as Miss Grimshaw and Charles took over, helping the stranger over to the table nearby.

“Aye, one of ours,” he answered, sliding his hands into his pockets. “A rather interestin’ fellow.”

“I’m learning that’s not a compliment in this camp.”

Sean laughed as her lips twitched before he quickly shushed himself as Arthur looked over to them, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Quiet now, lass, we’re about to be bored to death,” Sean whispered to her as Arthur approached.

“So, Lenny told me you two went out of camp.”

Ada couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of betrayal from the young man she’d started to rather warm to. Surely it wasn’t that bad, was it—

“Aye, I took the lovely lady out into town to—”

“You went into Rhodes?”

His abruptness seemed to catch Sean off guard, but he swiftly recovered.

“Aye, it’s not good for anyone to be cooped up in this mad place fer too long—”

“Do I have to remind you, MacGuire,” Arthur cut him off again as he stepped closer, prompting the other man to rise to his full height, “We’re wanted men involved in two mad as hell families. We got bounty hunters lookin’ for us up and down the God damn country who ain’t afraid to take us dead or alive. We can’t afford to just go dancin’ into town like God damn idiots.”

“All righ’, Morgan, it was jus’ a bit of fun—”

“Yeah, well, people have died over ‘a bit of fun’, haven’t they?”

Sean’s mouth opened then closed as he stared at him. Ada glanced between them, but before she could speak Sean exhaled a harsh laugh and turned on his heel, striding away. Pressing her lips together, she turned on Arthur, lifting her chin to look at him.

“I don’t know what you were referring to but I gather that was incredibly unfair of you.”

“Excuse me?” He gazed down at her with more of an air of exasperation than incredulity at her challenging him and that just incensed her more.

“He was just being kind, Mr Morgan, I needed new clothing and a breath—”

“You need anythin’ like that you speak to Miss Grimshaw.” He was already looking away from her, dismissing her as his eyes searched the camp.

Pressing her lips together, she adjusted her stance, standing directly in front of him and forcing him to look at her once more. “I don’t want to take any more charity—”

“It ain’t about that.” Now his full attention was on her as he wrestled to keep his voice low. “I don’t think you quite realise the danger we’re in—”

“If there is any danger I can handle myself and you know that—”

“As far as I know you can hold a gun and point it without shakin’. Beyond that I don’t know what you can do.”

His words stung but she clenched her jaw, begrudgingly accepting he was right, and that wouldn’t do.

“Perhaps I just need the opportunity.”

He arched an eyebrow as he exhaled a humourless laugh. “Is that what you want is it? An opportunity? Oh, what, you want to go out there seekin’ danger now? Think you’re invincible now you’re runnin’ with outlaws?”

God, she wanted to wipe that patronising look off his face.

“Need I remind _you_ it was _you_ who brought me here, Mr Morgan.” 

“Yeah, but I might need remindin’ of the reason why.”

That stung, too.

“Some horseshit about saving people who need saving, and you obviously thought I could handle myself here.”

She didn’t know whether it was her coarse language that stunned him into silence, the truth of her words or he was just holding his tongue but he didn’t answer her, his jaw moving. She didn’t look away as they stared at one another, neither wanting to back down.

_He’s not agreeing._

_Don’t do it_ ─

“Give me your gun.”

“Excuse me?” Now he looked incredulous as he glanced down at her extended hand.

Arching an eyebrow, she raised her chin. “It appears I’m going to have to prove myself, Mr Morgan, to ease your apparent distress at my safety.”

Now that certainly stunned him.

“No, I ain’t givin’ you my gun.”

“Fine.” Looking to the side, she moved her hand in the same direction. “Lenny?”

Lenny, having been sat reading under a tree nearby and trying very hard to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping, raised his eyebrows in slight alarm.

“Yes, Miss Sawyer?”

“May I borrow your gun, please?”

“Uh…” He glanced at Arthur, though only briefly, as he stood, closing his book. His curiosity won out. “Sure.”

Stepping closer, he pulled his gun from its holster and held it out to her, the corners of his mouth lifting. “You’re not gonna kill anyone, are you, Annie?”

“I hope not.” Taking the gun, she lowered her arm and offered him the parcel and blouse, which he took swiftly, before she turned, glancing at Arthur as she strode away.

Lenny followed quickly behind her, not overly fond of the idea of being left with Arthur to be chastised. The older man exhaled a long breath as he watched them for a moment, before he, too, slowly followed after the woman.

Ada moved behind Arthur’s wagon and down to the bank, gripping the revolver in her hand and familiarising herself with the feel of it. It was a standard Cattleman with a black steel frame and an ebony grip.

_Perfect._

Four empty bottles lay strewn across the sand, most likely from Reverend Swanson, and she came to a halt, wetting her lips.

“Lenny, please can you set those bottles on that rock?”

“Sure thing.”

Lenny apparently hadn’t been the only one listening in on their arguing as she could hear the rest of the camp forming an unsubtle audience a little way behind her, unashamedly gathering to watch as they murmured to each other.

She kept her eyes on Lenny, though, studying the angle at which he placed the bottles.

“All right, Annie, there you go.” He grinned at her as he ran past, joining the group.

Arthur stood towards the back of the audience, a little higher up on the bank, his mouth set in a thin line. He was hesitant to underestimate her due to her confidence, but then again he’d known many a confident person to make a fool of themselves. Would she really embarrass herself that way, though? Especially in front of everybody? Nah, Miss Sawyer didn’t seem that kind of fool. She was headstrong and damn stubborn, but not a fool.

He watched her closely as she stood straighter and raised her arm, drawing the hammer of the revolver back.

“Ten dollars says she does it,” Karen whispered to Tilly, who smiled.

“No deal ‘cause I think she’s gonna do it, too.”

Somewhere behind them, Micah snorted.

Ada exhaled a slow breath as she stared at the bottles, blocking out the sound of the group. Then, she squeezed the trigger.

She moved quickly.

In quick succession, the bottles blew apart one after the other, glass falling onto the sand.

“Holy shit!”

“God damn!”

The group spoke over each other as Ada lowered her arm and allowed herself a small moment of pride, a smile pulling at her lips.

“Someone get this girl a drink!”

Her smile widened as she finally turned to the group, finding most of the men drifting away back to their duties as the women grinned at her. 

“I don’t drink, Uncle.”

“Well, someone get one for me, then!”

Wanting any excuse to open the whisky, the women followed after Uncle, talking over one another. Sadie, who Ada hadn’t noticed before, stood further beyond them, down on the south side of the bank. She smiled proudly and nodded at Ada before turning away and heading along the shore, returning to her post.

“Wow, that was somethin’,” Lenny beamed as he stepped closer, holding his hand out.

“Oh, thank you. And thank you for letting me borrow it.” She returned his infectious smile as they swapped, she giving him the gun, he her blouse and parcel.

He shook his head as he holstered it. “Don’t mention it. I wouldn’t mind seein’ that again.”

She watched him as he wandered away, smiling to himself as Karen could be faintly heard trying to get a rousing song going.

Ada’s smile lingered, too, as she smoothed her skirt down, before she realised that just left… Arthur.

Her smile vanished as she looked to him.

He stood only a few feet away, his arms folded, his features expressionless.

“You enjoy bein’ a child, do you?”

She sighed, her teeth grazing over her lower lip as she raised her eyebrows. “No, I don’t.”

Dropping his arms, he stepped closer, gesturing behind her. “Well, you’ve proven you can hit unmovin’ targets. You ain’t proven you can hit somethin’ that’s shootin’ back at you.”

“No, I just haven’t proven that to you.”

“Well, you obviously wanted to prove _somethin’_ here.”

“Yes, that I’m skilled with a gun, Arthur, and that if I feel like taking a break from camp and going out for less than an _hour_ then I can handle myself if something comes up. I understand your concern for this camp but I believe this time it was misplaced.”

“Oh, you’ve done more than target practice, have you? You killed, have you?”

“I killed an O’Driscoll back in Strawberry before you found me, I told you that.”

“And what has that done to your conscience?”

That made her pause, and he took full advantage of it, refusing to break their gaze.

“You been thinkin’ about it at all? Sure, he deserved it but it’s a hard thing to take a life. Could you do it again?”

She didn’t respond.

He shook his head. “Well, I hope we don’t get the opportunity to find out, Miss Sawyer. It could be your life that’s taken while you’re decidin’.”

A cold smile settled on her lips “What an unburdening that would be to _your_ conscience, Mr Morgan.” 

He watched her as she walked away, his jaw set firmly.

He should’ve disagreed with that, protested vehemently, but he had the feeling only more angry words would have been exchanged. He knew he’d been hard on them, and, yeah, perhaps unfair to Sean, but the amount of bounty hunters that had taken Trelawney and how close they’d been to the camp had rattled him.

He could admit she was a good shot, _could_ probably handle herself and was maybe as good as Sadie, but that didn’t mean she had to be put in a position to prove it. It wasn’t just her, too, they should all keep their heads down for a while, or, hell, even move on, maybe.

Arthur sighed heavily, pushing the brim of his hat up.

_There’s never a quiet day._


	5. The Knock on the Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

The next morning, restless from a sleepless night of turning over Micah’s words in her mind and her irritation at Arthur, Ada offered to take Karen’s morning watch, something that had delighted the other woman. 

Sadie had suggested she offer to take a watch a couple of days ago, to which Ada had politely dismissed under the pretence Miss Grimshaw needed her assistance, but now she was itching to do something else besides sewing and washing and cleaning. 

And what better way to prove her newfound loyalty to this camp than protecting it? Especially as she’d already proven what she could do.

Her ‘show’, as it was now being called, was still being discussed by the time dinner had come round, and she had batted away questions about how’d she’d been taught with humble answers of being raised to hunt.

It was a familiar story to them, some of the group having been raised the same way, so they didn’t press, just taking it as she was damn good. It was almost as if her ‘show’ had broken the last barrier between her and the group, like they had found the box they could put her in to and what purpose she served. It was almost as if she’d finally found her place, too. Most of the men, probably seeing her as more useful now that they knew she could do more than sew and clean, held easier conversations with her that night and Charles and Javier had even politely extended an open invitation to her to join them in a hunt one day. She’d accepted gladly.

Now, though, she was left alone to guard the camp on the north side, a rifle in her hands and a gentle breeze on her face.

It was peaceful, and she hadn’t minded that the hours had passed slowly. Stood under the tall trees, she listened and watched for any sign of movement, occasionally spotting a hare or squirrel rustling amongst the bushes. 

She tried not to think about how easily she had been riled yesterday. Usually she found it more infuriating to someone in an argument to be the calm one, to walk away, but something about Arthur just made her want to prove him wrong. Who the hell did he think he was, judging and—

“Good mornin’.”

She’d heard someone approach but hadn’t expected that voice to belong to them. Turning her head, she smiled politely.

She was the only camp member she hadn’t spoken to, having only glimpsed her sitting in Dutch’s tent or down on the other side of the bank, writing or combing her hair. The other women and even some of the men had remarked under their breath about how lazy and entitled Miss O’Shea was, and Ada had been able to see that for herself.

So quiet alarm bells had started to ring that Molly O’Shea, who kept herself to herself and hadn’t bothered to introduce herself previously, had come to seek her out.

“Good morning, how are you?”

“Ah, I’m grand, thank ye, you?” the Irish woman answered, a gentle smile on her lips as she wandered closer, a cigarette between her fingers.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Grand.” Molly exhaled a breath of smoke. “I just thought I’d come to let ye know Javier’s comin’ to take over from ye in a few minutes.”

_Oh, did you now._

“Thank you, Molly.”

“No worries. I’ll walk back to camp with ye, if ye like. He shouldn’t be too long.”

_Can’t really say no to that now, can I._

“Sure, that would be nice.”

Lowering her hands, Ada kept the rifle grasped in one as she fell into step with Molly, her curiosity over exactly what Miss O’Shea wanted causing her to fall silent.

She didn’t have to wait long.

“You’ve got lovely hair. Just like mine. Ye got any Irish in yer family?”

_There we go._

“Yes, my father was. He’d come here as a child, though.”

“And yer mother?”

“American. From Virginia. They met at a local dance one night and fell in love. Much to the dismay of my grandparents, apparently.”

“Oh, really?” Molly smiled as she did, her eyes remaining intently on her.

“Yes, but they loved each other so it didn’t matter to them.”

“Ah, that’s lovely. Very romantic.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Forgive me for askin’ but I take it he passed away?” she asked, lowering her voice to a sympathetic tone.

“Yes, when I was a child.” Ada smiled faintly, making sure the recollection of tragic memories was clear on her face. “A few years after that my older brother died. We moved to Strawberry shortly after, my mother and sister and I, to live with my uncle, for a fresh start.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Annie. You’ve been through so much.”

Ada just maintained her small smile, looking at the ground. They slowed as they reached the camp and Ada lifted her head to nod at Javier as he passed, a light smile on his lips.

“Look,” Molly continued gently. “I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself to ye sooner, Annie. I thought I’d give ye a bit of space after all the awful things ye went through.”

_Of course you did._

“It’s fine, Molly, I appreciate your kindness.”

Molly’s sweet smile widened a touch before she gestured at Ada’s face with her fingers holding the cigarette. “Did that happen in the attack?”

Ada frowned genuinely for a moment before she realised what she was referring to, involuntarily touching her cheek and the small, healing bruising that spread across her cheekbone. Nobody else had mentioned it, perhaps out of respect.

“Oh, yes, my Repeater hit me as I fired a shot. It was much worse when I arrived.”

It was far too sympathetic a look the woman was giving her. She also seemed to be steering them in the direction of Dutch’s tent and, upon glancing at it, Ada spotted Micah sat outside it, cleaning his revolver.

_Christ, what is this? They’re not going to interrogate me, are they?_

“And your neck, there, that from them, too?”

Ada caught herself before she cursed, tensing just slightly.

_Shit._

She’d meant to find a neckerchief before dressing but it had slipped her mind as it had been so full with cursing Micah Bell and Arthur Morgan.

“Oh, no, I got this when I was a child, from an accident.”

She resisted the urge to brush her finger tips against the thin, four inch scar that lay horizontally at the base of her throat. Up until now she’d kept her hair down and the blouse Miss Grimshaw had given her had a high neck which had hidden it. But now, with her hair swept up and wearing the new brown and white striped blouse that she had bought which had a lower neckline, it was on show for all to see, if one were to look close enough. Miss O’Shea was very observant.

“Goodness, how did it happen?”

What exactly was she searching for? All Ada could think about was that this was Dutch’s woman, but was she digging for her own benefit or for Dutch’s? Had her little gun show yesterday drawn more interest than she’d thought? Or was Molly just incredibly curious?

Ada was saved from resorting to one of her lies, however, by none other than Arthur Morgan.

“Hey, Molly, where’s Dutch?”

Her head lifting quickly, Ada found the man suddenly stood before Micah, ignoring whatever the other man was rambling on about, that eternally exasperated expression on his features.

Miss O’Shea’s mood soured quickly. 

“I don’t know, I’m not that man’s keeper, apparently.” Throwing her hands up dismissively, she strode away, muttering under her breath.

_So much for my new friend._

Passing the rifle to her other hand, she suddenly didn’t quite know what to do with herself, standing there a little awkwardly. Follow after Molly and perhaps continue to be interrogated by her or very obviously turn away from these men and stride away like she’d found a pit of snakes? Well, that wouldn’t be far from the truth.

“… that line of thought serves you or me very well,” Arthur answered to whatever Micah had said. And then he looked at her.

“Miss Sawyer, have you seen Dutch?”

“No, I haven’t.”

He sighed and looked around again, which needled her.

_There, he’s just silently dismissed you for being useless, now go._

“Well, that’s because, cowpoke,” Micah continued, “you are a man of profoundly limited intelligence. Isn’t that right, Miss Sawyer?”

She glanced at him, finding him giving her that smile she hated so much.

Irritating Arthur by siding with Micah she certainly hadn’t stooped to yet.

“At least he doesn’t pretend to be the fount of all knowledge.”

Arthur’s gaze darted to her as Micah laughed.

“Defending the idiot, huh? How noble of you, Miss Sawyer.” His attention returned to Arthur. “But while you and the old man and Dutch have been running around, digging us ever deeper into shit, old Mr Pearson might have gone and lightened the load a little. Pearson!”

Now her curiosity certainly wouldn’t allow her to walk away.

“Ain’t you curious?”

She almost answered him before she realised he was talking to Arthur.

“I guess.”

“Gentlemen.”

Ada took a slight step to the side at the sound of Dutch’s voice behind her, turning her head. He strode towards them, looking resplendent as always.

“Dutch,” Micah called out eagerly, excited to share whatever he had, gesturing at Pearson who had nearly run over to them, smoothing down his thinning hair, also excited. “You tell him, fat man.”

Ada arched an eyebrow and found herself glancing at Arthur, who was already looking at her, and they shared the briefest of bemused looks. She swiftly returned her attention to Pearson as he spoke.

“It’s peace, Dutch, the O’Driscolls. I mean, I think there’s a way.”

Ada stilled, bemusement falling from her features. Arthur frowned, stepping aside as Dutch stepped into his tent.

Dutch didn’t seem too impressed either. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Get the words out properly, fat man,” Micah prompted with thinly veiled frustration, giving Pearson a slight shove into the tent.

Pearson cleared his throat and took a breath, lifting his gaze to Dutch’s back as the older man reloaded his revolver. “I met a couple of the O’Driscoll boys on the road into town. Things were about to get ugly, but you know how I am in a fight, huh? Like a cornered tiger!”

From the corner of her eye, Ada saw Micah look at Arthur, a smirk pulling at his lips, but she didn’t dare pull her attention away from Pearson.

“Anyway, somehow it didn’t, but…” Pearson cleared his throat again as Dutch lit a cigar, still not having gained his full attention and very much aware of it. “We got to talkin’ and they suggested a parley to end things. Like gentleman.”

“Gentlemen?” Now he had Dutch’s attention. “Colm O’Driscoll?” He advanced towards Pearson, who backed out of the tent, his mouth moving slightly. Dutch looked between Micah and Pearson. “… Have you _lost your minds_?”

“You’re always tellin’ us, Dutch,” Micah interjected before Pearson could, “do what has to be done, but don’t fight wars ain’t worth fightin’.”

“They want a parley?” Hosea’s voice suddenly sounded from behind them and they all turned, finding him sat at the table, a newspaper in his hands. “It’s a trap.”

Micah hissed out a slight breath, raising his hands. “Well, of course it’s probably a trap.” His voice softened a little as he returned to Dutch. “But what have we got to lose finding out?”

“Gettin’ shot,” Arthur drawled.

“We ain’t gettin’ shot because you’ll be protectin’ us,” Micah answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, patting him on the arm. “It’s a trap? You shoot the lot of them. If it ain’t a trap, that slim chance—”

“I don’t see the point in any of this,” Dutch cut in as he strode out of the tent towards Hosea, shaking his head, and they all followed after him, Ada included, at a slight distance.

“It’s a chance we gotta take,” Micah implored, walking a little faster than the others.

Dutch exhaled a short breath as he braced his hands against the table, leaning over it. No one spoke.

Suddenly pushing away from the table, Dutch straightened. “I killed Colm’s brother, a long time ago.”

Ada’s heart stopped as her lips parted. 

_Oh my God…_

Her blood ran cold.

“Then he killed… A woman I loved dear…”

This was why they hated each other so much. This was why so much blood had been shed. This was why… This… Because of… Because of this man stood before her…

Micah hummed sympathetically and leaned on the table. “As you say, it’s a long time ago, Dutch.”

Dutch fell silent once more, his jaw moving. He threw his cigar aside.

She couldn’t breathe.

She felt Arthur, stood beside her, looking at her.

_Breathe, for the love of God, breathe…_

Then, Dutch nodded.

“Let’s go.” The men all straightened as he pointed at Micah. “You and me, with Arthur protecting us, no one else.”

He started to walk away, and Ada heard herself saying, “I’ll go with you.”

They all paused, their eyes heavy on her.

_Breathe._

Gentleman Dutch smiled politely as he turned to her. “Miss Sawyer, I can’t allow that.”

She swallowed hard, grasping the rifle a little more tightly. “Either you allow it, or I just happen to be heading the same way you do.”

Her boldness took them all by surprise, including herself.

“Miss Sawyer, it—”

“Because of that man my family is dead and my town destroyed. If he wants to talk peace and means it, I want to be there. For my family and the people of my town’s sake.”

“By that reasonin’ we should take Sadie, too,” Arthur interjected, frowning.

Her gaze cut to him. “I’d be delighted if she was to join us.”

Dutch’s smile lingered as his eyes swept over her and, after less than a moment, he nodded. “Fine, but you go with Arthur and watch from a distance until we know it’s safe.”

She nodded, knowing when to not push her luck.

As she strode passed him, Arthur stared at Dutch incredulously, opening his mouth to protest, but Dutch was already walking away, heading towards his horse.

Gritting his teeth, Arthur made his way to his own horse, watching Annie. She mounted quickly, holstering the rifle on her saddle, a grim determination on her features.

_Lord, I hope she doesn’t shoot him the moment we see him… If he’s even there._

“Mount up, then, Morgan.”

Arthur glanced at Micah, a satisfied smile on his lips. Sighing heavily, he mounted his horse, his eyes returning to Annie as they headed out of camp.

Micah led the way, Dutch to his right and Arthur and Ada behind them.

“You know, I’ve been fightin’ Colm for so long now I can barely remember a time when it was different,” Dutch said bitterly.

Her gaze cut to him, her heart thumping against her chest. 

“And you’re still fightin’ him now, make no mistake of that,” Arthur answered from her left.

“Here he goes, Doubtin’ Thomas. Is there any plan you ain’t sour on?” Micah snorted.

Ada kept her gaze ahead, silent, her mind racing as they talked to each other. 

_Think about something before you throw up._

But what else could she think about?

Peace? Why would O’Driscolls want peace? It, almost laughably, went against their very nature. It just seemed far, far too good to be true. Whatever was going to happen, though, whether it was a trap or not, O’Driscoll boys would be there, and she was going to kill them. And if Colm O’Driscoll was there, then—

“What about you, Miss Sawyer? Awful brave of you to want to come.” Micah’s voice brought her back to the present.

“I’m nervous, too,” she answered after a moment, echoing words she’d heard Arthur say.

“Look, you two ain’t even going to be the one’s in danger. We’ll get on over there, find a nice perch for you two to settle into, you both got rifles, ain’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur muttered.

“Then me and Dutch walk right into the lion’s den with you to cover us. And you Miss Sawyer, we’ve all seen you’re a real good shot, I can imagine the damage you could do.”

_What a shame if you were to get caught in any cross-fire, Micah._

“Okay, just keep calm. Unless I give you a reason not to,” Arthur answered before she could.

“Oh, we’ll be fine. We’ve got you two,” Dutch called back.

“We will do our best, won’t we, Miss Sawyer?” Arthur glanced at her as they rode over a dry river bed, the sun beating down.

She just hummed in response.

“Oh, my dear and trusted friend, with you watching over me, I would walk into hell itself,” Dutch said sincerely.

“As would I,” Micah added, so over-sincerely she would have laughed in any other situation.

They fell silent, until…

“Hey, up there, men on the ridge.” They followed the direction of Micah’s pointing finger, slowing 

“O’Driscolls, from the look of ‘em,” Duch murmured as they watched the four men ride up the ridge slowly, the man at the back, even from this distance she could see, looking down at them.

“I don’t like havin’ eyes on us.” 

She shared Arthur’s discomfort as they rode up the incline of the hill.

“We’re close, you’ll be the eyes soon enough,” Micah answered in what just about passed as a soothing tone. “Maybe he’s right, Dutch. Maybe I have pushed too hard. Got us into situations that… could have been safer. I just… I see all those mouths we got to feed, and I… I dream too big. Caring too much, that’s my problem.”

Ada wanted to laugh again.

“Carin’ too much? There’s no such thing.”

“This is horse shit, from both of you!” She was glad Arthur said it before she did.

“It might be! Micah might be full of shit. Colm O’Driscoll might be full of shit,” Dutch said, a quiet bite to his tone as the path flattened out and they reached the top of the hill. “The promise of this great nation, men created equal, justice and liberty for all, that might be nonsense, too. But it’s worth trying for. It’s worth believing in. Can’t you see that, friend?”

Arthur sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Try. All I ask is you try.”

“All right, cowpoke, and my lady,” Micah interrupted, “you’re gonna peel off up ahead. We’ll be meeting down on the plain. Find a spot just above us where you can keep an eye on things.”

“All right, all right. However this shakes out, let’s aim to meet back at the fork in the road afterwards.”

“We’ll be there, partner.”

They separated, Dutch and Micah heading down into the valley as Arthur and Ada cantered away up the rocky, grassy incline. Neither of them spoke until they reached the top.

“Slow up, just here,” Arthur murmured.

She slowed Faithful as Arthur slowed Ophelia, glancing at the nearby ridge. They dismounted, each shouldering their rifles, and she followed behind him, crouching a little as they moved towards the edge. They both kneeled and Arthur lifted the binoculars he’d retrieved from his saddlebag, peering through them at the scene below. Micah and Dutch had halted and dismounted, three horses cantering towards them. Where was the fourth? Probably doing exactly what they were. Ada looked through the scope of her rifle. They both watched as Dutch and Micah lay their hands on their weapons on their belts, and a grey-haired man in the middle dismounted his horse.

The wind faintly carried his voice as he spoke.

“Hello, Dutch. It’s been a while.”

She stiffened. Colm O’Driscoll.

“He’s old,” she couldn’t stop herself from saying.

“He ain’t that old.” Arthur muttered, lowering his binoculars and raising his gun. “Now be quiet.”

“Sure,” they heard Dutch say.

The other two men behind Colm dismounted and approached.

“So, uh, how’s your gang doing? They still believin’ in ya? Better world, pure world, hmm? How’s that comin’ along?” She could hear Colm’s smile.

“Just fine.”

“How’s that score you stole off us?”

“Which one?”

Arthur sighed.

_For Christ’s sake…_

Colm laughed suddenly. “Oh, I like that. It’s like I said,” he said to his men, “This a charismatic leader.” Turning back to Dutch, he neared, his head tilting. “Lot of heat on us this time. Both of us. Whole heap of trouble.” He smiled. “They offered me a price, Dutch, to bring you in.”

Dutch smiled. “Why didn’t you take it?”

“Well, still might.”

Dutch’s smile faltered slightly, and he seemed to exhaled a breath. “I am… sorry about your brother.”

Colm just continued smiling, shrugging. “Well, I never liked him much.”

Dutch stilled, and Arthur thought he could see the coldness in his eyes. “… I liked Annabelle.”

“You always loved the ladies, Dutch van der Linde, I like that about you,” Colm laughed, shaking a finger at him.

Dutch seemed to have had enough. “What are we doin’ here, Colm? Is this thing over?”

Ada hadn’t moved, desperate to hear every word, barely breathing. Arthur had been too busy focusing, too, to notice her distress, thankfully. The very earth seemed to fall into silence as they awaited Colm’s answer.

There was a sound behind her, suddenly. 

Before she could turn, white hot pain spread across the back of her head and everything went black.

* * *

Sounds waded in and out. Loud, so loud. His eyes opened and there were three moving shapes. Blinking, they focused into three men, strangers, who were staring down at him, laughing and calling out to him.

“Hello, sugar! You ain’t dead, is you? Not _yet_ , anyway!”

The man who spoke slammed his boot down onto Arthur’s shin and he grunted, pain shooting up his leg. Then a fist slammed into his head, and a boot connected with his stomach. Something cracked against his head, and everything went black.

* * *

“…. handin’ him over to the law, it’s… I don’t know. Strange times…”

“They killed Seamus, fuck the whole lot of them…”

Arthur exhaled a quiet groan, trying to open his eyes. His vision was blurred and distorted voices came from somewhere but he couldn’t determine where or who. Closing his eyes, he tried to regulate his shallow breathing, his head pounding.

_What the hell happened… Think, you idiot…_

Mountain. He’d been up on the mountain, he’d been watching the O’Driscolls, then Annie had— Shit, Annie had been with him. She’d made a sound, then he’d turned and… Shit, an O’Driscoll had slammed a gun against his head.

_It had been a God damn trap… Jesus Christ, where’s Annie?_

Opening his eyes again, Arthur dragged his gaze up and there she was. He released a rasping breath as he tried to focus on her. She lay a foot or so away, her hair covering her face, motionless.

_They can’t have killed her, they won’t have killed her or…_

Of their own accord, his brain slow to catch up, his arms moved out and settled on the ground. Digging his fingers into the ground, he pulled himself towards her, gritting his teeth as he tried to be as slow and as quiet as possible. He still couldn’t place where the voices were, but they were starting to sound closer as he adjusted.

His fingers brushed against her hair, trying to push it aside to see where her face was. Then, she made a small sound and her head moved a fraction.

Relief eased the tightening of his chest.

“Annie…” he breathed, pushing more of her hair aside. “Hey, wake up, come on.”

She didn’t move or make another sound.

A horse’s whinny broke out across what he had now established was a clearing in a forest, and he’d recognise the sound anywhere.

_Good girl._

He couldn’t whistle her closer for fear of alerting the O’Driscolls, but he couldn’t just do nothing.

_Shit…_

“… he can play him…”

Slowly turning his head, Arthur found the source of the voices. He could only see two of them, sat on the ground several feet away, their backs to him. He was too weak to fight them, he knew that, and if they hadn’t killed him yet they wanted him for something. They hadn’t killed Annie either or seemingly done anything else, so…

_If I could get away, get to Ophelia and get help… Shit, I can’t leave her…_

Perhaps he could get to his guns on her, though, she hadn’t sounded too far off.

_Shit…_

Turning away from Annie, he began to crawl, focusing on an incline up ahead. If he could stand, and then maybe run, maybe she was beyond it, maybe they wouldn’t notice him…

With what strength he had left, Arthur pushed himself up onto shaking legs as quietly as possible.

_One foot in front of the other, come on, you big bastard…_

"He’s escapin’! Shoot him!”

_Oh, shit…_

“Relax, relax! I got him, I got him…”

A gunshot sounded and he saw a bullet collide with the ground before him. He collapsed, his legs too weak, rolling onto his back.

“Did I kill you?”

The same three men from before appeared over him again as he groaned, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Not… yet…”

They laughed, two of them still keeping their guns fixed on him.

“No, of course not. Not yet… But I will.”

A gunshot sounded again, and pain blossomed across his shoulder. His cry broke off as he passed out.

* * *

A roaring sound. Like when he was too near an explosion and his ears couldn’t adjust. His face was wet. Blood? Possibly. Yelling, too.

He groaned. God, pain everywhere.

_Open your eyes._

It took all his strength to pry them open and he gazed down at… water. Running water. A river, a loud one. Something kept jolting him, too. On a horse, crossing a river. Every breath he took came out as a ragged exhale. Pained.

Still yelling.

Annie. He could faintly hear Annie yelling, but it was as if she was miles away. Cursing and hollering that was answered with laughter.

There was a cry, then, suddenly, silence.

He thought he heard an eagle’s call as he passed out once more.

* * *

She heard firewood crackling first. Low voices drifted over it. She felt warmth from something close by.

Then she felt the pain.

There was an unrelenting stiffness in her shoulders, arms and legs. It took her a few moments to realise she was kneeling on dry grass and her hands were tied above her head to a wooden pole that pressed against her spine, keeping her rigid. Her jaw and cheeks hurt, too. They throbbed, as did her right eyebrow. In fact her whole head ached.

She’d been hit, she remembered. Hit to pass out, hit to shut up, hit just for the hell of it. Hit by…

She mentally checked the rest of her body.

_Fine, thank God… Well, besides the stiffness…_

The voices rose a little higher for a moment, laughing, before stabilising again.

_I don’t want to know where I am, I don’t want to know where I am, I don’t want to know where I am…_

A groan escaped her, and the voices grew in volume, enough for her to hear.

“Shh, quiet… Is she awake?”

“About time.”

“Quick, make sure you’ve got a gag ready.”

They laughed and the sound of it irritated the throbbing in her head, making her groan again.

Someone suddenly gripped her chin and lifted her head. Opening her eyes a fraction, her cracked lips parted.

“You’ve taken a couple’a blows to the head, darlin’, you all righ’?”

She hummed out a sound, then made her eyes open a little wider. A man swam into focus, with brown eyes and black hair and moustache.

“Never been better,” she rasped.

The man laughed, making her wince.

“Fiery one, ain’t ye? I think I’ve got somethin’ to make ye quiet.”

“I wouldn’t. I’ve got strong teeth.”

He laughed again and released her, standing and patting the top of her head before turning away.

“She’s fine. Tell him.”

She watched him as he walked away to, she assumed, resume his place at a fire surrounded by three, four other men. Her sluggish mind tried to frantically make a plan as she attempted to rotate her wrists to test how loose the bonds were.

Not loose at all.

Slowly lifting her head higher, her neck so stiff, she leaned it back against the pole, her eyes drifting across the scene before her. The men sat to her right around the fire, and across to her left was a stone building of some sort, perhaps a cottage. She could hear the sounds of horses behind her, snorting and biting at the grass. Beyond the men was a ramshackle wooden shack, crates stacked around one side of it and…

No sign of Arthur.

_Please, God, don’t let him be dead._

Closing her eyes, she willed herself, in her exhausted state, not to cry. They would just love that and she couldn’t lose hope because there was always, _always_ a way out.

_‘Somebody always makes a mistake somewhere, girlie’._

_Think._

They couldn’t have killed Arthur. She’d heard the men talking about this being a trap to lure Dutch to them, so they won’t have killed him… Would they? Would it make much difference, if Dutch was going to come and they were all to be turned over to the law, anyway? Why was _she_ still alive? She was no major gang member the law could use, oh, God, what did they want with her—

“Ah, our second guest.”

Her eyes snapped open at his voice. Carefully lifting her head off the pole, she watched him approach, a smile on his lips, a lantern in one hand and a stool in the other.

“Hello, sweetheart, how are you?” Colm O’Driscoll asked, setting the stool down and taking a seat opposite her.

He was dressed like a poor man’s version of Dutch. Waistcoat, shirt, trousers, all of them one step down from the kind of finery Gentleman Dutch wore. Where Dutch’s hair shone darkly, Colm’s was lank, grey, thin. His features were harsher, too, the lines in his face deeper. His blue eyes, however, were bright, and on her.

She swallowed hard and wet her lips, feeling each stinging split.

“Wonderful,” she whispered, not trusting the full strength of her voice.

He laughed softly. “They said you was a firecracker. You don’t sound so good, though, would you like some water?”

She couldn’t, and didn’t want to, stop herself from nodding.

“All right, then.” Placing the lantern down, he pulled a silver flask from his waistcoat pocket, unscrewed the cap and held it to her lips.

Tipping her head back as much as she could, he then poured the liquid into her mouth. She swallowed, and instantly started to cough. Turning her head to the side, she spluttered as the liquid burned her throat, her breaths ragged.

Whisky.

“Ah, shit, my mistake. Damn, you got some on me, sweetheart.” Colm tutted before taking a swig himself and screwing the cap back on, watching her as she started to cease her coughing.

Licking her lips again, wincing, she lifted her gaze to meet his. He smiled.

“I’ve just seen your boy Arthur,” he remarked, leaning a forearm on his thigh. “Oh he’s fine, don’t be so worried,” he continued as her eyes widened. “I told him you were… a little unwell. Still pretty, though, ain’t you? Yeah…”

He brushed the dirty strands of hair that fell over her face away before his fingers ran down her jaw, his smile widening a little more as his hand dropped.

She hadn’t jerked away but stayed silent, watching him, her heart pounding.

“He was goin’ to leave you, you know. He was makin’ a break for it.”

He couldn’t have missed the confusion that flashed across her features.

“Yeah, my boys saw him runnin’ away. Had to shoot him in the shoulder, they did. It’s lookin’ a little bad now, but I think it got the message through.” He waved his hand. “But, anyway, what’s a nice girl like you doin’ with a band of such cowardly outlaws, hm, Miss…? What’s your name, darlin’?”

She didn’t answer.

He leaned closer, his elbows on his knees. “Now we thought you was Dutch’s current lady at first, what’s her name, Molly? Yeah? But then we saw how young you was and… then I saw this ring…”

Her eyes darted down as he rummaged in his trouser pocket and pulled out a small, silver object. Holding it out to her in his palm, she clenched her teeth as she stared down at the ring.

“… now, I know this ring. Where’d you get it, darlin’?”

She returned her gaze to his.

“It was a gift.”

“Hm? Was it now? From who?”

“A boy in my town.”

“Oh…” He sat back, tilting his head. “… now I don’t believe that.”

Beads of sweat trailed down her back as she watched him turn it over with his fingers.

“See, this is a very special ring. A family heirloom, I think, one of a kind. I know someone who had one just like it.”

Her chin started to tremble as she exhaled a short, staggered breath. He met her gaze again.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Ann—Annie Sawyer,” she whispered.

He tilted his head again, his expression one of disappointment. “I don’t believe that, either.”

“My… My name…” Her voice shook, her eyes filling. “… is Annie Sawyer.”

“No, it isn’t…” He leaned closer once more, closing his fingers over the ring. “I think it’s Adaline O’Driscoll.”

Tears started to fall down her cheeks as all hope left her.

“Am I wrong, dear niece?”


	6. The Bonds of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

“Did you think I’d forget you? Just ‘cause I ain’t visited in a while?” Colm shook his head with a soft laugh. “How could I ever forget my only niece? You was a firecracker back then, too, runnin’ around, wantin’ to hold your daddy’s guns and shoot at the rats before the cat got ‘em.”

He laughed again and all she could do was cry silently, her breaths shaky. He talked so _fondly_.

“Shit, yeah, you was more entertainin’ than your brother—”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about him, you son of a bitch—”

“But he’s a ball of fire himself now.”

She froze. He smiled, his leg bouncing up and down slightly, as if in excitement, as if he had been _waiting_ for this.

“He’s dead,” she whispered after a few moments, unblinking.

“Is he?” Colm watched her closely, his voice softer. “Or did he just decide to stay with us?”

She shook her head, at first slowly then firmly, her jaw tightening as anger started to build. “He went after you to kill you, he would have rather _died_ than be part of your gang.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said himself,” Colm sighed, “But… when I told him it was Dutch and not me who killed your daddy, then, well… he changed his mind.”

Her hands curled into fists and she would have given _anything_ to be free.

“He wouldn’t have believed you—”

“You don’t seem so shocked at that particular bit of news.” Colm tilted his head, a faux frown settling on his features. “You ain’t callin’ me a liar, either. It was my understandin’ from Thomas that you all thought I was the one to do it, so I guess you found out the truth, too. How recently? Go on, how recently?” he prompted as she remained silent.

"Before we came to meet with you,” she whispered, and he laughed with joy.

“Today? Ah, shit, girl.” He grinned at her in disbelief. “Out of the mouth of God himself, I presume?”

When she didn’t say anything he laughed again, shaking his head.

“Today, I don’t believe it…” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “I reckon you might owe me an apology of some sort, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, shit, you look just like your ma when you look at me like that—”

“Don’t you dare talk about her, you bastard, because of you she is _dead_.”

That made him pause just slightly. “Is that right?”

“Yes, we were living in Strawberry and your men attacked it a week ago. Do you even remember?” She spat each word out.

He nodded a few times. Then, a corner of his mouth twisted up. “Yeah, I remember. We were gettin’ young Colin and Andrew out of jail before they could spill their guts to the law. We ended up spillin’ ‘em nice and good ourselves.”

“You _killed_ them?” She stared at him, horrified. “So all that bloodshed, all those lives taken—”

“Is sometimes a necessity, to keep family safe.”

“You don’t _care_ about family, Colm.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It seems you don’t know me at all, my darlin’ Addy. We’ve lost out on a lot of time together.”

All she could do was stare at him, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. She’d forgotten his nickname for her.

His smile widened a little more, before he sighed contentedly and stood with a quiet groan. “Well, I must be goin’ now, my darlin’.” Straightening up, he slid the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand before returning his gaze to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, they’ll let you go, the law. You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” He reached out and stroked her hair. This time she jerked her head away, her lips curling. He laughed. “Just like your ma… I’d take you with me, but I don’t fancy sleepin’ with one eye open. I’ll come and find you soon, though, once you’ve calmed down and seen sense.” He then gave her another fond smile. “Family should be together. Thomas’ll be so happy to see you.”

“He isn’t _alive_ ,” she half-hissed, half-pleaded.

He just smiled, then turned and walked away.

“He’s dead!” she yelled after him, pulling against the rope, ignoring it as it cut into her skin. “He’s _dead_!”

* * *

He didn’t know how he’d found the energy to do it, but he’d freed himself. Freed himself from being hung upside down like a God damn animal ready to be butchered. He’d swung, managed to grab the metal file on the nearby table and picked the lock that held him bound. He’d used the same file to cauterise his wound with the help of the candle and, God, he didn’t know how he kept quiet as pain spread through his shoulder once more. He sat for a moment, trying to catch his breath─

The doors above opened.

“… he’s dead!”

_Annie._

_Shit…_

“Shut your hole!”

_Shit…_

“I don’t wanna go to Mexico. I wanna go home… home!” Another voice, nearer.

Keeping hold of the file, he pushed himself up from the chair and staggered to the wall near the stairs, pressing himself against it.

“Hold on, I’ll be back in a minute.”

The man, carrying a lantern, moved down the stairs, paused, then darted forward, raising his lantern higher.

“What the hell?!”

Arthur lunged. 

Wrapping one arm around his neck and pressing his hand over his mouth, he started to choke the man, then twisted his neck, breaking it. Shoving the dead man side, he sucked in air, the task tiring him more than it should have.

_You can rest when you’re dead, you idiot…_

Searching the man’s body, he found a gun and throwing-knives. Knowing he couldn’t take them all on at once, he took the knives, opting, and praying, for a quiet escape.

Moving towards the stairs, he crouched as he ascended them slowly, straining to hear who was outside the doors.

“What’s he still doing down there?”

He paused at a new voice.

“It’s one thing torturing a man, it’s another putting him through stories of the homeland.”

A man passed by the open doors, mercifully, without looking down, a cigarette between his lips.

“He better hurry it up… I don’t wanna be here when the law comes for that side of beef.”

As the man’s voice grew quieter, Arthur started moving again, and peered out over the doors.

There was no one close by, but he could see lights shining from lanterns in a couple of places not too far off. Pressing his lips together, he stepped out from the stairs and, keeping low, turned to the left, spotting the man he’d seen speaking. Quietly, he approached and lunged once more.

It took mere seconds for him to break the man’s neck. This time he took the man’s gun, gripping it tightly. Glancing about, he headed towards the next source of light that was moving away from him. Fuelled by adrenaline now, he ran to the tree near it, paused for only a moment, then raced at the man, tackling him to the floor.

The man could only hiss out a brief, “What the hell?” before Arthur drove his fist into his face then choked him, watching the man as he died. Throwing him down, he huffed out a breath then stood, searching the area.

_Where the hell is Annie?_

He strained to hear once more.

“What are you lookin’ at, sweetheart?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, are you implyin’ somethin’ there, bitch?”

Pressing his lips together, Arthur moved quietly towards the voices, coming to an old shack and pressing his back against it.

“I didn’t think you would be intelligent enough to pick up on it.”

“I think you’re lookin’ for a fight, aren’t ye? Well, I don’t fight women—”

“How noble of you.”

“You ain’t any better ‘an me, sweetheart, at least that’s what I heard—”

“Shut your mouth, you bastard, or I will kill you.”

All he had to do was wait until the man was completely distracted, Annie was doing a fine job of that—

“Oh, yeah, and how are you goin’ to do that?”

At the sound of a second voice, Arthur grit his teeth and peered through a gap in the slats of the shack. All he could make out was the top of a fire, Annie’s skirt and a man’s hand. Lowering himself, he slowly moved behind one of the crates.

“Huh? Tell us. How are you goin’ to do that when you’re tied up like that? You ain’t gonna do nothin’, are you.”

The man laughed, and Arthur quickly rounded the crate, ducking behind a stack of them and—

His guns. Exhaling a short breath, he quickly collected his revolvers and gun belt from on top of the box beside him and secured them around him as the men continued to taunt Annie.

“You just like talkin’ a good talk, don’t ye? Just ‘cause ye know we can’t do nothin’. Talk all you want, sweetheart, ye’ll be ours soo—”

Ada gasped as the man suddenly choked on his words, a knife buried in his head. He fell to the floor, his eyes wide, narrowly missing the fire.

“What the fuck?!” The moustached man grabbed his gun and made to stand, but before he could even straighten up, a knife sank into his neck. He made a gargled sound and collapsed, his shotgun tumbling out of his hands.

“Oh my God…” she breathed, staring at his body.

“Hey, you all righ’?”

She inhaled sharply as someone suddenly crouched beside her and her gaze darted up—

Arthur.

She stared at him, trying to process that he was actually there _and_ the state he was in.

“Oh my God, Arthur—”

“Are you all right?” he asked again, more firmly, but she could see he was just barely focusing on her.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, my, my hands…” Her voice shook, in fact her whole _body_ was shaking, and she didn’t know whether it was from shock finally settling in or the cold breeze that now blew over them.

“All righ’, hang on…”

As he used a knife to cut through her bonds, she took the few moments to study him.

_Jesus Christ…_

His face was bloody and bruised more than hers, he was only in his red long johns, there was a large patch of dried blood on his shoulder—

“Arthur, your shoulder, Colm said it was bad—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Her arms fell as he cut through the last of the rope and she hissed at the stiffness, her eyes closing tightly.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

She felt his arm around her back and his hand on the pole behind her.

“Annie… Annie?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

“You have to stand up with me, all right? We have to get out of here.”

She nodded a few times, wetting her lips.

“All right…”

Tightening his arm around her, he gripped tightly at the pole and pushed himself up, clenching his teeth as his body protested. Wincing herself, she held onto his good shoulder as they rose, her legs weak. Trying to plant her feet firmly as blood rushed back into them, she leaned against him, her eyes closed.

“Annie, we gotta—”

“I know, I know, just let me…” She could hear how weak he was, could _feel_ it as he swayed slightly against her. Swallowing, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, his face close to hers. “All right, let’s go.”

Nodding, he let go of the pole. Keeping his arm around her, either to keep her up or support himself, probably both, he started to move.

“Over there…” he murmured, pointing at at a small group of horses under a tree. 

She guided them over as he searched the darkness for any signs of movement. Arthur didn’t believe Colm would have just left those four men to defend the camp, others must be around somewhere.

Ophelia and Faithful lifted their heads and each made a sound as they approached, turning and walking towards them. 

“Hey, girl…” Arthur murmured to Ophelia as Annie led him to her, and she ducked under his arm, reaching up to lift his hand and place it on the back of the saddle.

“Up you get, Arthur.”

His other hand settled on the pommel and he closed his eyes, pausing for a moment. Then, he hauled himself up, grunting through gritted teeth. It was painful to watch him, but just as she went to aid him, though, he swung his leg over and sat up, his head tipping back slightly. Exhaling breaths he must have been holding, he wet his lips and held his hand out to her.

“Come on.”

"I’ll be fine, I’ll get on Faithful.”

Before he could protest, she mounted Faithful and clicked her tongue gently, prompting him into a walk. Ophelia, perhaps sensing her owner wasn’t in a good state, starting walking, too.

Arthur, clinging to adrenaline and knowing he had to not only get himself but Annie away alive, too, made himself grip the reins tightly and straighten a little, urging Ophelia into a canter. Annie followed his lead as they turned down onto a wide dirt path. A lake was to their right, waves gently lapping at the shore.

They kept their gazes fixed ahead, searching the distance for anything.

“I reckon there’ll be more of ‘em in the area, so we just gotta get far away, then we’ll make a plan.”

His quiet words were slightly slurred and her eyes darted to him. He was leaning a little to one side.

_Christ…_

“Arthur—”

“Shit, look, there…”

Her head whipped up as they slowed their horses. There, in the distance, were flickering lights that were growing closer.

“This way, down onto the bank,” she whispered, turning Faithful and guiding him down onto it, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Arthur was following.

He stayed behind her and they kept to a walk to make as little sound as possible. Above them, the lights grew brighter and they began to hear the voices.

“Why does Colm want us there? What’s he gonna do if he’s tied up?”

“He ain’t worried about Morgan, it’s Dutch and his gang he’s concerned about. He don’t want ‘em ambushin’ us before the law gets here…”

The voices passed and Ada released a breath. There was no way they could relax just yet, though. Turning, she looked at Arthur. He sat slumped, barely holding the reins, leaning to his right.

_Shit…_

“We’ve got to go faster, all right, Arthur?” she murmured, her heart racing. “Just for a little while so we can put some distance between us and them, okay?”

He nodded but didn’t respond, and she thought perhaps he hadn’t heard her properly, when he cleared his throat and urged Ophelia into a gallop. Swiftly doing the same with Faithful, they raced along the shore, Ada keeping an eye on the bank above and the other side of the lake for any lights or O’Driscolls. She could hear Arthur breathing harshly beside her, and prayed to God Almighty that he just held on for a little longer as they passed under a train track that sat high above.

Glancing down, Ada noticed deep lines and hoof marks in the sand, evidence it was used as a crossing area.

That coupled with the tracks… She knew where they were.

“Arthur, look…” she called quietly, slowing Faithful to a stop, Ophelia automatically doing the same. “We’ll cross here. We’ll go at a walk so we don’t make too much noise.”

He just nodded again, his head dropping down slightly.

_Please, God…_

Taking the lead, she guided Faithful into the river, Ophelia following behind. She could have taken them further up the bank, crossed in shallower waters but she knew time was precious. Cool water rose up her legs, soaking her boots and the lower half of her skirt, and she couldn’t help but shiver lightly. Arthur made a sound behind her as the water soaked his legs and she looked back at him, her eyes momentarily darting to the bank behind them to check they were safe.

“Just a little farther, Arthur. We’ll just put the river between us, all right, then we can take it a little easier, okay?”

He didn’t respond.

All she could hear was the water sloshing quietly as the horses swan across. There were no birds, no voices, nothing.

They were so close to the other side.

_Just get there, just get there, just get there…_

She could have cried when the water started to lower as they made it to shallower waters and the small island close to the bank, and moments after Faithful stepped onto the shore, his gait quickening into a canter.

“Good boy, come on,” she murmured, urging him up the incline to the path above, checking Ophelia was indeed following.

Finally, _finally_ , they made it onto the flat path. Blowing out a breath, Ada gently halted Faithful and turned to Arthur.

“If we just—”

She broke off with a sharp inhale as he collapsed to one side. Swiftly sliding off of Faithful, she lunged forward and caught him around the waist before he fell, her shoulder pressing against his chest. She could hear his ragged breaths against her ear.

“Shit…” she breathed, trying to adjust her stance as she supported the full weight of him. “You’re all right, you’re okay…”

Breathing hard, she squeezed her eyes shut before pushing him up, trying to get him upright. Keeping her hands on his sides, she steadied him as best as she could.

“You’re okay, you’re okay…” she repeated under her breath, almost to herself.

Lights caught her attention.

Staring beyond him, she saw lights moving slowly across the other side of the lake, farther down.

“Oh, shit…”

Whether it was O’Driscolls or travellers she didn’t want to wait to find out.

Gripping the pommel of Ophelia’s saddle, essentially just her straining forearm keeping Arthur up, she placed her boot in the stirrup and pulled herself up. Sitting on his bedroll, she slipped her other boot into the other stirrup and gathered the reins. She guided Arthur to lean back against her, tilting her chin up and resting it on his good shoulder.

“There we go, we’re all right…” she murmured, her whole body tense to bear the weight of him.

Nudging Ophelia’s sides with the heels of her boots, she prompted her into a canter, calling quietly to Faithful to get him to follow.

_Just get back to camp, just get back…_

“All right, girl, come on, take us home…”

Arthur’s head leaned against hers as they rode and she listened to his shallow breathing, her chest tightening.

_Please, God, let him make it._

* * *

He swam in and out of consciousness.

He was cold and hot all at once, and everything was so painful he was almost numb. A gentle voice sounded close by, so close it felt like it was in his head. He couldn’t hear what it was saying but it sounded soothing.

Hours or minutes passed, he didn’t know.

The next time he came to, though, the voice sounded a little clearer, if strained.

“We’re here, Arthur… Please wake up…”

He gave a slight groan, and he thought he heard the person, the woman, breathe a ‘ _Oh, thank God…_ ’

Ada watched him for a moment as he groaned, before she returned her attention to the path. She brought them back to camp from the north side; no one had been guarding it.

_Please still be here…_

As they rose up the small incline, relief flooded through her as the camp came into view, the tents, horses and wagons still there.

Pulling the already slowing Ophelia to a stop, she cleared her sore throat as she dropped the reins.

“Somebody help!” she called hoarsely, unsure as to whether anyone would even hear her.

Swallowing hard, she winced as she slid her boots out of the stirrups and slowly moved a leg back, her hands gripping Arthur’s waist tightly as she dismounted. Her knees almost buckled when her feet touched the floor. When Arthur tipped to the side and leaned against her, they did.

Her body finally gave out as she collapsed, Arthur falling with her. They landed on the ground, he with a grunt, she with a gasped inhale.

She could hear how weak his breathing was and it terrified her.

“Someone help!” she called again, her voice no louder than her first attempt.

Then, mercifully, someone appeared above her.

“Arthur! Annie!” Mary-Beth gasped, her eyes wide as she pressed her hands against her cheeks.

Karen was suddenly there, too, kneeling beside Arthur. “Oh my God, are you two—”

Then, Dutch was there.

“Arthur—”

“I told you it was a set up, Dutch…” Arthur groaned.

Ada gazed up at the sky, trying to regulate her breathing.

“My boy, my dear boy, what?” Dutch continued.

“They got… me and Annie but we got away…”

“He needs help,” she finally whispered, her gaze meeting Dutch’s.

He nodded slightly, staring at Arthur’s wound. “Yeah, that you did, my boy.” Straightening, he looked around, calling out, “Miss Grimshaw? I need help!”

”… he was gonna set the law on us…” Arthur carried on as Dutch, Mary-Beth and Karen helped him to sit up, his voice straining with the effort.

“… They had us over the river from Flatneck Station…” Ada murmured over him, blinking slowly.

Charles was suddenly there, gently brushing the hair from her face as his eyes swept over her and the state she was in. He carefully slid his arms underneath her and lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather.

As he carried her away, she heard Pearson apologising profusely.

“… I’m sorry, Arthur, I’m, I’m so sorry, Annie—”

“It is a bit late for apologies,” Dutch snapped before calling out once more, “Swanson!”

Pearson swallowed hard before gripping Arthur’s arm as he, Dutch and Mary-Beth lifted him to his feet. “Mr Morgan, you’re safe now, you and Miss Sawyer are both safe—”

“Where is she, where’s Annie?” Arthur slurred, trying to look around as Dutch and Pearson drew his arms around their shoulders so they could support him.

"Charles has got her, don’t you worry, you’re both safe now,” Dutch soothed him gently as they half carried him towards his area, his feet stumbling slightly.

“Let’s get him to bed,” he heard Miss Grimshaw order, his gaze fixed on the ground. 

Was he insane or was the ground flowing like water?

With a slight grunt from both men, Pearson and Dutch lowered him onto his bed, Dutch repeating, “You’re safe now.”

Arthur huffed out a harsh laugh that startled them all. “That’s pretty, Dutch…” He dropped his head back against the pillow, his eyes already closing. “… That’s real pretty…”

Dutch watched him, his mouth in a thin line.

“Miss Grimshaw,” he murmured after a moment, “Will you sit with him awhile?”

"Of course,” Susan answered quietly. Pulling a chair from the table beside his bed closer, she patted Arthur’s arm gently. “You’ll be okay, Mr Morgan, you’re home.”

Dutch stared for a few moments, then turned on his heel and strode across the camp.

* * *

“You’re all right, Annie, you’re going to be fine now…”

She gazed at Charles as he carried her. She couldn’t quite believe it yet, couldn’t quite believe they’d actually made it.

“Am I really here?” she murmured, so quietly.

“Yes, you’re here now. You’re safe.”

He had such lovely hair. The soft ends of it brushed against her cheek.

“Arthur’s in a bad way.”

“Miss Grimshaw’s looking after him. She’ll take good care of him.”

She heard herself exhale a faint laugh, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

Good. Good old Susan. She would allow nothing to pass that she didn’t want, even death itself. Arthur would be safe.

Charles looked at her as he came to a stop and started to lower her down.

“Are _you_ all right—”

“Put her in my tent.” John was suddenly at his side, a grim expression on his features. “She’ll need the privacy.”

“Thank you, John.”

She looked at John as Charles straightened again, adjusting his hold on her gently, and hoped he understood her silent gratitude, her eyes still shining with unshed tears.

John nodded, his hand lightly touching her shoulder, before he was gone, walking in the direction of Arthur’s tent. He passed Dutch, who was heading towards them.

She looked away, returning her gaze to Charles.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“The bottom of your skirt is damp. Did you cross water?” He was speaking as quietly as she was, and it was so nice, like there was no one else in the world.

“Yes, it was the quickest way to get him back.”

“And you, too. We’ll have to get you warm, though.” Charles ducked a little as he entered John’s tent, and gently set her down on the bed.

A long breath left her as she sank against it, her eyes closing. She felt Charles kneel beside her, his fingers lightly touching her jaw, checking for swelling or fractures.

“How do you fee—”

“My dear girl…”

Ada’s eyes opened as Dutch stepped into the tent, concern etched across his features.

“Are you all right? What happened?”

Charles continued to carefully check her face as she spoke, her eyes half-open. “They took us on the ledge. Knocked us both out, I think, they certainly did me. When I came to, we were on the move, on their horses. We were crossing water, it was such clear water, I could see fish, and I started calling out, hoping someone would hear us. They hit me, and I just yelled louder, then they hit me again and again and again, and I fainted again…” She broke off to hiss quietly as Charles touched a particularly tender part of her cheek, relaxing at his murmured apology. “… The next thing I knew I was tied to a post. Then Colm…” She broke off again, his words suddenly flooding back.

The tears that had filled her eyes suddenly spilled, slipping down her cheeks. Charles paused his studying, one of his fingers gently brushing the tears away.

“What, my dear?” Dutch prompted gently, his eyes fixed on her. “What did he do to you, Annie?”

Her mouth moved slightly but nothing came out.

“Annie?” Charles murmured, his hand settling on her shoulder.

She turned her head a little to one side, then shook it. “Nothing. He did nothing to me.” She felt Charles relax. “He just… He’s just an awful man.”

“That he is,” Dutch agreed, anger seeping into his tone. “That son of a bitch… Miss Sawyer, I promise you, this great wrong will be righted, I will see to that.”

She just nodded, taking in a slightly shuddering breath.

“What happened after tha—”

“Where is she? Annie?!”

Sean all but burst into the tent, his eyes wide as he caught sight of her.

“Oh, darlin’, are you all right?” His frantic tone instantly softened as he knelt beside Charles, his hand finding hers.

She smiled weakly, her features crumbling slightly as she tried not to sob.

_Don’t…_

“I’m fine, Sean, really. It looks worse than it is.”

“That’s probably true,” Charles added, sitting back on his heels. “I can’t feel any breaks or fractures. Is there anywhere else—”

She shook her head quickly when she felt Sean tighten his grip. “No, no, it’s just my face, nowhere else.”

“Well, that is a relief.” Dutch sighed heavily before inclining his head. “I shall leave you to rest, then. Are you all right to tend to her, Charles?”

“Yes, if that’s all right with you, Annie.”

She hummed quietly. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Can I stay, too, Annie?”

“Of course you can, Sean,” she murmured, her eyes closing.

“Very good. Rest well, Miss Sawyer.”

She hummed again, hearing Dutch exit.

“Sean, will you get me some clean cloths and water?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Her hand dropped from his, and she heard him leave quickly.

Fingers gently brushed her forehead.

“Sleep, now, Annie,” Charles murmured.

She finally gave in to the exhaustion.

* * *

Warm sunlight danced across her face.

Karen hadn’t closed the tent flap properly last night.

Ada didn’t mind, though. It was wonderful.

She’d spent a full day sleeping after their return and the next resting. She’d relayed again all that had happened to Dutch and Hosea on that second day, Hosea sparing her from having to reveal all the details by gently cutting off Dutch’s barrage of questions. After that, the girls had joined her and talked with her, Mary-Beth braiding her hair while Karen and Tilly took turns showing off what they’d stolen recently. Sadie even joined them and laughed along, and when the other women left she quietly told Ada that Arthur was still sleeping but Miss Grimshaw had done the best she could and the wound looked a little better.

On the third day her body felt stronger but Sean had persuaded her to stay abed, telling her she should take all the time she needed to recover. Secretly, she was relieved. Something in her just couldn’t face leaving the safety this tent had provided from reality. He stayed with her all day and she welcomed his distractions, listening to his stories of wild adventures that might not have been all true and making her laugh until her stomach hurt.

On the fourth day, Abigail brought Jack to see her.

“He’s been complainin’ about wantin’ to see you,” Abigail said apologetically but, again, Ada welcomed the distraction, and listened to him talking about his drawings or the books he was reading or the fish he’d seen in the lake for hours. She had to hide her dismay when Abigail came to retrieve him, as the times she was left alone…

The nights were hard. Left alone with only her thoughts and memories, she couldn’t help but turn over Colm’s words in her mind, obsessing over the way he’d said it, his expressions, the language he’d used. _Was_ he telling the truth? The idea of her brother being alive was as unbearable as it was him being dead. She didn’t want the tiny spark of hope it had built within her. If it wasn’t that she thought about incessantly, then it was the knowledge that her father’s murderer was sleeping only a few feet away. Could he even remember the two small children that had been there when he’d killed Michael O’Driscoll? 

The only brief reprieve she had was thinking about, despite what Colm had said, Arthur had saved her. He _had_ come for her and saved her. And she had saved him.

If she did sleep, it was fitfully, waking always with a start at the slightest sound. She thought of getting up and walking around the camp but she didn’t want to talk to anyone, too vulnerable in that moment to mask her pain.

It was the fifth day, now, and she knew she could no longer hide away in John’s tent under the pretence she was recovering. She didn’t want to have to explain that while she might have physically recovered, emotionally she was still in complete turmoil. Mary-Beth helped her to dress, gifting her a slightly worn plain black skirt with pockets that went beautifully with the emerald blouse Sean had stolen for her. She then braided her hair again up into a bun, looking very satisfied and proud once she stepped back.

“There. Oh, you look beautiful, Annie! Here, have a look…”

She handed her the small mirror from the barrel on the other side of the tent that John probably used to shave with, and for the first time in five days Ada saw her reflection.

The cut on her eyebrow had scabbed over, making it look worse than it probably was. Bruises along her jaw and cheekbones were smaller than she thought, though they were still faintly purple and blue, only a few starting to turn a little yellow. Dark circles hung under her eyes, evidence that she was perhaps not coping as well as she wanted everyone to think.

_What a fright you look_ , her mother would have said.

Mary-Beth had done a lovely job of her hair, though, so Ada smiled as she lowered the mirror, handing it back to her.

“Thank you, Mary-Beth, you’ve turned me into something wonderful.”

“Oh, gosh, no,” the other woman dismissed gently as she took the mirror, returning it to its position, “You’re very pretty, Annie, I just made your hair a little neater.”

Ada’s smile widened a little more as she pushed herself up to stand. “You’re the beauty here, Mary-Beth, neat hair or not.”

Mary-Beth beamed as she shrugged her shoulders. “I always like to look nice, so, thank you, Annie.”

Ada lifted a grey, probably once white, shawl from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, about to follow Mary-Beth out when the other woman paused before turning back to face her.

“I think it was so brave… how you brought Arthur back like that.” She played with the ends of her chestnut-brown hair slightly as she looked at her. “You could have left him out there and saved yourself, so many other people would’ve.”

Ada looked at her, her forehead dipping slightly. “No, I couldn’t.”

Something Ada couldn’t quite place passed over Mary-Beth’s features, but before she could dwell on it the woman was smiling again. “Let’s go and get somethin’ to eat before Uncle has it all.”

Stepping out with her, Ada smiled gently as she pulled the shawl a little tighter around herself. “Actually, Mary-Beth, I think I’m going to go and see how Arthur is.”

The woman paused and the same expression appeared again, vanishing as quickly as it came. “All right, then. Would you like me to save you a bowl?”

“No, thank you. I’m not very hungry.”

Mary-Beth nodded and smiled widely before walking away. Ada watched her, her pace quickening as Uncle staggered towards the pot of stew.

Inhaling a long breath of crisp air, Ada tipped her head back and gazed up at the sky. A clear and brilliant blue.

_Just go._

Wetting her lips, Ada turned and began to walk. From the corner of her left eye she saw that Dutch’s tent was, thankfully, empty. 

Someone had draped more cloths and blankets over Arthur’s area, probably to give him some more privacy, so she had to pull one of them back slightly to peer in. He lay on the bed, his eyes closed, lips parted. She watched him for a few moments, her gaze dropping to his chest to check if he was breathing. It rose and fell steadily; he was asleep.

The chair beside his bed was vacant so she quietly slipped past the blankets and took a seat, her eyes remaining on him. He didn’t move, his breathing remaining regular.

Sadie had updated her on his progress over the past few days and she said he’d seemed to be starting to get a little better. They had to make him eat, but that was nothing new, apparently, from a man who was so busy taking care of ‘business’ he often forgot or didn’t have the time. Someone had changed him into dark brown trousers and a cream undershirt, which had the faintest stain of blood just around where his wound was. She stopped herself from pulling back the open of his shirt to inspect it; Miss Grimshaw had probably patched him and the others up a thousand times before and was therefore most likely an expert. The stubble that usually framed his face had grown a little longer but his skin and hair was clean. He looked… gentle, for once.

_What the hell am I doing here._

Blowing out a quiet breath, Ada lifted her gaze from him and stared ahead at the side of the wagon. Then, she narrowed her eyes slightly.

Were they… photographs?

She’d never noticed them before. Then again, she hadn’t exactly been around his area before _to_ notice them. Sitting forward in the chair, she leaned over him a little, getting a better look.

One photograph had three men in it, one standing, two sitting down, in some kind of parlour. It only took her a few moments to realise it was Hosea, Dutch and Arthur, albeit them probably about ten years or more so ago.

A corner of her mouth lifted.

Arthur looked so _young_.

_He probably turned a pretty head or two… I bet he still does._

She had to stop herself from snorting loudly at the sudden thought. 

_What a silly thing to think about._

Her eyes darted to the next photograph.

It was of an older man, probably around Dutch’s age now, maybe younger, but she didn’t recognise him. He was holding some kind of board, however, and upon leaning a little closer she saw that it read, _‘Lyle Morgan. Larceny. 12-7-1847′_.

_It really does stay in the family._

There were a few other trinkets and items, too, like a horse shoe and an article that told of a robbery, one that probably meant something to Arthur.

Sitting back, her legs crossing, Ada grazed her teeth over her lower lip. She couldn’t stop herself from continuing to inspect. At the base of the bed was a chest with a rug thrown over it and his revolvers and gun belt rested on top, along with his hat. Beside her on the table was a flower in a bottle ( _a gift from Mary-Beth?_ ), a cigar, a map and a picture of an older woman. She studied the picture, a corner of her mouth lifting. It had to be his mother.

Arthur mumbled quietly and her head quickly turned to him. His brow furrowed slightly and he mumbled something again, though she couldn’t make it out. She was about to murmur his name when his eyes opened.

Swallowing, he took in a long breath and exhaled it, then his eyes darted over to her.

She smiled automatically, wanting to put him at ease.

“Good morning.”

He watched her for a moment, as if his brain was catching up with where he was.

“Good mornin’.”

His voice was rough and low, somehow prompting her to make her’s quiet.

“What were you dreaming about?”

He looked away from her, then, his eyebrows raising slightly as he adjusted his head on the pillow.

“Deer.”

Her smile seemed to want to linger. “That hungry? I’m afraid it’s fish for breakfast.”

He grunted his disinterest.

“Yeah, I’m not jumping at it either.”

“You’ve gotta eat somethin’.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah, but you look like shit.”

A sudden laugh escaped her before she could stop it, her smile widening as she raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, really? _I_ do?”

He glanced at her before closing his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips, and she suddenly found herself very interested in it.

“Yeah, you look like you’ve been to hell.”

“Oh, I do apologise. You look radiant, however, Mr Morgan.”

“Yeah? I feel it.”

Her smile faltered as she watched him shift slightly, a pained wince flashing across his face. She played with one, frayed end of the shawl.

“You shouldn’t have come for me, Arthur.”

His eyes snapped open and he looked at her in disbelief. 

“Are you kiddin’ me? You might be dead if it weren’t for me.”

“I would have been fine. The law doesn’t know I’m with you all, I could have told them the O’Driscolls kidnapped me and they would have let me go.”

“Yeah, and then what?”

Her mouth opened, then closed slightly.

“What, you would have come back?”

She didn’t answer.

“Nah, I don’t think you would’ve. Maybe I _should’ve_ left you there,” he grumbled, directing his gaze ahead, dismissively.

_Why did that notion offend him so?_

Her skin prickled slightly.

“Do you remember the journey back here at all?”

His brow furrowed as he glanced at her, slightly suspicious of the sudden turn in conversation. “No.”

“Exactly,” she retorted, “You’d be dead in a ditch or a river right now if it wasn’t for me so show a little gratitude.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Why don’t you show _me_ some gratitude, woman, I got you out of there, and you wouldn’t have been able to be a damn hero if it weren’t for me.”

“Well, you didn’t have to save me.”

_“I didn’t have to save you_?”

“No, you didn’t.”

He opened his mouth, then swiftly quashed whatever it was he was going to bite back as she arched an eyebrow, his teeth gritting.

“You’re a stubborn, irritatin’ woman,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, you’re an ungrateful bastard,” she shot back, crossing her arms as she sat back.

They fell silent as he closed his eyes, probably praying for strength not to murder her, and she stared at him, silently daring him to snap back because there was something so simple and easy about arguing, despite how difficult she knew but absolutely would not admit she was being.

But… the corner of her mouth twitched just slightly.

He just looked so… put out. Like a cat that hadn’t been fed the moment it was hungry.

The question of the day was still nudging at her, too.

“Why did you save me, then?” she continued. “Seeing as I seem to be such an inconvenience, and don’t give me the ‘save people as need saving’ preaching or I will choke you and I don’t think anyone would stop me.”

His jaw moved minutely. “Save people as need savin’.”

She gave a humourless laugh. “So because Dutch says so?”

He turned his head to stare at her. “Because it’s _right_ and there was no way in hell it was righ’ to leave you with those bastards.”

Her lips twitched again. “So you’re a criminal with a heart?”

He made an almost disgusted sound, looking ahead before he closed his eyes again. “Will you shut up? I’m tryin’ to rest here.”

The twitching broke out into a smile. Tilting her head, she lowered her voice into soft awe.

“Thank you, Arthur, for saving my life, you’re a real hero—”

“Ah, shut up, woman, before I tell Grimshaw you’re ready to get back to work.”

She laughed as he grumbled, folding her hands in her lap. Her gaze dropped as she was suddenly reminded of the absence of her ring. She licked her lips, shifting in the seat.

“I do mean it, Arthur,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he answered, though he didn’t grumble.

Silence fell again, and it felt rather comfortable. She gazed at the photographs again, her eyes drifting from the one of his father to him, comparing. She found herself wanting to know what his childhood had been like. Had his father raised him in a gang? Or had he been kept away from it all as a child? What had led him to—

“He told me you…” Arthur’s voice startled her out of her musings, his words hesitant as her eyes found his. “… you weren’t in a good shape.”

She knew what he was dancing around.

“None of them touched me. In that way, anyway,” she answered, giving a faint smile. “I was just hit to be quiet, then tied to that pole. Nothing else.”

He nodded, casting his gaze over her bruises. “That’s a relief, then.”

“Yes, it is.”

She watched him for a few moments. His gaze returned to hers.

“Annie, can I ask you somethin’?”

She raised her eyebrows a little, rather surprised.

“Sure.”

"When we were talkin’, before we went to see Colm, somethin’ Dutch said… affected you.”

Her heart dropped. Keeping her features neutral, she lifted her gaze, as if recalling the conversation.

“Did it?”

“Yeah. When he was sayin’ about how he killed Colm’s brother.”

“Oh…” She pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly. “I just… it all seems so petty, doesn’t it? How this long feud started.”

He frowned. “Petty?”

She nodded, holding his gaze. “Yes. I’m sure there’s more to the story but… to play with people’s lives like that—”

“What ain’t you tellin’ me.”

Her mouth stayed open as she broke off, her eyes searching his before she frowned.

“Nothing, why—”

“You said someone was dead, too, when we were bein’ held by the O’Driscolls. I heard you yellin’ it, who were you talkin’ about?”

Her frown deepened. “It— I thought you were dead. Colm was spinning lies, trying to get me upset and he led me to believe you were dead.”

He didn’t answer, wanting to see what she said next. She remained silent, too, just staring at him.

She probably thought she was hiding it but he could see the pleading in her eyes for him to not press the matter, to be a gentleman and let it go. But he was no gentleman. He knew a poker face when he saw it, and a liar when he heard one.

“Annie… It don’t have to go any further than you and me, whatever it is.”

She continued to stare, panic starting to claw it’s way up.

“It’s nothing,” she implored, trying to keep her voice low because, God, who knew who else was around, but she knew she had already lost.

“Annie—”

“Not today.” She had to give him something. Shaking her head a little, she murmured, “Please, Arthur… not today.”

He studied her and she didn’t dare look away. Then, he sighed and nodded begrudgingly.

“All right… Not today.” He pressed his lips together before continuing, ”If you’re in trouble, though—”

“You dead yet, Morgan?”

John Marston, her unknowing saviour, brushed past the blankets with a bowl of stew, the widest grin she’d seen from him yet on his lips. It didn’t falter as he caught sight of her, inclining his head.

“Good mornin’, Miss Sawyer, how are you today?”

“Very well, thank you, John,” she beamed, grateful to him for the second time that week. “How are you?”

“Just fine, just fine.” His gaze slid over to Arthur. “I’ve been told to feed our patient, here.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake…” Arthur grumbled, closing his eyes as she stood, clasping her hands together.

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful! How kind you are, Mr Marston.”

“I do what I can, Miss.”

“Can I thank you again for allowing me the use of your tent?”

“Oh…” Arthur opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on the younger man. “So that’s why you’ve been lurkin’ around here, snorin’ on the ground beside me.”

“Well, you wouldn’t let me get in with you.”

“I’ll leave you boys to it.” Annie grinned as she departed and Arthur watched her, his mouth in a thin line.

How could she do that? Change from one person to another just as quickly as blinking? And what in the hell was she hiding? He’d had a feeling from the start she was and now he was so close to finding out—

“Come on, Morgan, I’m gonna feed you like a little baby bird.” John was still grinning as he sat down, holding the bowl towards him.

Arthur groaned. “Get outta here, Marston, leave me to die in peace.”

“No way in hell. Now sit up, old man, come on.”

“I should’ve left you on those mountains with those wolves.”

“But you _didn’t_.”


	7. Falling Leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

She returned to him the next morning, the blouse she’d worn the day they had been taken in one hand, thread and needle in the other.

He couldn’t think for the life of him why she came back, surely she knew he was going to ask her again, but the moment she sat down, without so much as a _good morning_ , she began to speak.

“What do you write in your book?”

“Huh?”

She glanced up from where she was pulling the thread through the eye of the needle, repeating a little more slowly, “What do you write in your book?”

“Just… What we do. Things I find.”

“Why?”

“‘cause I do.”

“Yes, but why?”

“‘cause I just do. Why do you care? It ain’t even noon and you’re already irritatin’ me.”

He thought he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips before she tilted her head, watching the needle as she started to repair the blouse. “I used to keep a journal.”

He didn’t say anything as he looked at her, scratching his growing beard.

_Christ, if she thinks we’re about to talk about feelin’s…_

“We had a pond on our farm when I was a child and I used to document all the toads that came and went. I named all of them but I couldn’t really tell them apart so I might have just been giving some multiple names.”

He stared at her, his hand dropping into his lap.

“You were a strange kid.”

She smiled at that, her sewing rhythmic. 

“Yes, I was. My mother wanted me to be learning what all young ladies were learning like needle-work and how to pour tea correctly and how to sit straight, but I used to run to the pond instead and converse with the toads.”

“So you were raised to be a proper young lady?”

Why was she suddenly starting to divulge information now?

“Not properly, I’d say. My mother was from a good family and had been raised that way so she wanted to pass that along to me but I was too much like my father, I guess.”

She fell silent for a few moments, probably waiting for him to ask a question about her family, but he saw his advantage.

“Annie, I’m gonna ask you again about—”

Her sewing paused and she looked up at him. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready, Arthur. I promise you I will.”

He got the sense she wasn’t a person who gave her word lightly, but it still frustrated him. What could be so big and frightening that she couldn’t just tell him outright? And how the hell did it involve Colm? Or was it just something she was simply embarrassed about? That maybe she’d been reminded what a group of killers she was with? Nah, that didn’t make any sense to him. Usually he didn’t give a shit about other people’s business, but if this involved Colm then it would most certainly become gang business.

She looked back down at her blouse and the sewing resumed.

“Now, do you want to hear more stories about how strange I was?”

“… Fine.”

He actually found that he did, and she told stories of what a really damn strange kid she’d been ( _collecting rocks and leaves? Rolling around in puddles ‘cause she’d seen the pigs do it? Really?_ ) until Miss Grimshaw found her and requested her assistance in helping Mr Pearson prepare the deer for supper that Charles had just brought back.

“Deer for dinner, it must be fate,” Annie had said as she left him, a smile on her lips.

It left him feeling… strange, her warm smile and his unease at the secret she was carrying.

He spent the rest of the day thinking about it.

* * *

She went back the next morning because she wanted to ask about the article pinned near the photographs, which he told her was about the first robbery he ever took part in. After some prompting, he grumbled and told her the full story, with all the details. She sat fascinated, interrupting here and there to ask a question.

She went back the morning after that because she wanted to know how he got Ophelia and named her that. She was a Thoroughbred and he’d _bought_ her, thank you very much, and Hosea had suggested the name. 

“Is a Thoroughbred really suited for this life?”

“Yeah, she’s got a good spirit and can go fast.”

“So you can run away?”

“So I can _survive_.”

She’d then asked about other horses he’d had and how he was so good with them.

She went back the morning after that because she wanted to ask about whether some of Sean’s stories were true. Most of them weren’t.

She went back the morning after that because John had told her a story about how Arthur had fallen out of a window after trying to rob a house and she _had_ to hear it from him.

She went back the morning after that because she wanted to.

It started to become part of their routine. She would come in the morning and ask questions and he would answer them, or she would read to him a passage from a book she was reading that Hosea had given to her and ask what he thought, which usually wasn’t much until she gave her opinion on it and somehow it suddenly had more meanings that he could understand, or she would tell him about what everyone else in camp was doing, and they talked until either Miss Grimshaw came for her or she left to get on with her own tasks.

A few times he even got to ask some questions of his own.

“How’d you get that?” he asked one day, sat with his legs stretched out on the bed, a knife and a token he was whittling in his hands. “That scar on your neck.”

She briefly glanced up from where she’d been scrubbing dried red dirt out of a skirt. “I got it when my family was attacked.”

He paused, lifting his head. “When the O’Driscolls attacked you in Strawberry?”

“No, no, years before then.”

She wet her lips, something he was noticing she did when she was considering something.

“Our home was invaded when I was younger. It’s how my father died. One of the men held a knife to my throat to keep me quiet but he pressed a little too hard and it cut me.”

“Jesus Christ…” he murmured, his eyes remaining on her. “How old were you?”

“Five.”

His frown deepened as he shook his head. “Shit, Annie. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She smiled lightly. “It’s fine, though. I was so young that, you know… I didn’t really know him. You can’t really miss what you didn’t have.”

Arthur watched her, falling silent as she kept her eyes on her sewing. 

Sometimes they would just sit in silence, each getting on with a task.

During one of those silences, while cleaning his guns, he suddenly said, “Sean makes you laugh a lot.” It was a nice sound, her laugh, not grating like some he’d heard. “How come you don’t find him irritatin’?”

She snorted. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“Well, you spend a lot of time talkin’ to him.” His jaw moved minutely. “Are you sweet on him?”

She laughed, the loudest _he’d_ made her laugh yet. 

“Oh, Christ, no.” She shook her head as she chuckled. “I enjoy his company, is all.” She smiled fondly now. “He reminds me a little of my brother. He died a few years after my father did, but… Before then he was always making me laugh, always playing with me. He never found me annoying, never wanted me to leave him alone. He was a good boy.”

“Well…” Arthur cleared his throat, returning his attention to his guns. “It’s good that he makes you laugh.”

Her smile widened as she turned the page of her book, her eyes dropping to it.

“You make me laugh, too, Arthur.”

He did make her laugh quite a bit himself, though often unintentionally. That made a faint smile tug at his lips.

* * *

Weeks passed, filled with conversations and silence, each recovering in their own way, until, finally, Arthur was deemed back to full health.

Feeling like himself again, he’d risen early and gone down to the shore, taking a seat on a chair left out on the jetty. He’d taken his journal with him, wanting to fill in a few spaces with birds and fish Annie had described to him that she’d seen. He didn’t know if he quite achieved their likeness, and he didn’t want to show them to her for her opinion because they weren’t anything special, but… One drawing he knew was like the subject it was based on was the drawing he’d started of her.

He’d suddenly begun drawing it about a week ago, fascinated with how her curls, unruly and having fallen out of a braid Mary-Beth had helped her with, fell down against her face and moved in the light breeze. He’d told himself it was just to see if he could capture that movement, a challenge to partake in until he got better, but as his pencil sketched out her lips and eyes with great detail…

_You’re a fool of a man, Morgan._

He’d found himself writing about her, too, writing down what they talked about and what she told him about herself that included great detail and no detail at all. She gave greatly but carefully, to the point where he knew what kind of animals she’d played with as a child but couldn’t recall the names of her brother, mother and father. Had she even told him? She never talked about her sister or uncle who’d died back at Strawberry, either. Maybe it was too painful.

_She is the most interesting and frustrating woman I have ever met,_ he wrote. _I think I know her one minute and then she says something that completely changes my mind the next._

She still hadn’t told him her secret, and all he could do was hold on to the promise she’d made that one day she would.

“I thought I’d be buryin’ you, Mr Morgan.”

Arthur lifted his head at the sound of Swanson’s voice, closing his journal and sitting straighter with a wry smile.

“Well, not quite yet, Reverend.”

“Good. How you feelin’?”

“Oh…” Arthur inhaled a breath, glancing up at the other man. “About the same as you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the Reverend answered dryly.

Arthur chuckled, rolling his formerly wounded shoulder.

“I thought Miss Sawyer might have lifted your spirits. She’s done a mighty fine job keeping you company.”

Arthur ran his hand down his beard, nodding a little. “Yeah, she has. It’s been very kind of her.”

“Well…” Swanson patted his back gently. “Take care of yourself.”

“You, too.”

Arthur rolled his shoulder again as he heard Swanson step off of the jetty, humming to himself an old hymn. The younger man gazed out across the lake as he slid his journal into his satchel before getting to his feet, clearing his throat. It was a crisp, slightly grey morning, with dark clouds threatening on the horizon, but he felt good and the strongest he had in a long time.

“You need to cut that beard, I’m beginning to forget what you look like.”

Annie joined him at his side, a cup of coffee in each hand.

He arched an eyebrow as he accepted one from her, returning his gaze to the clouds.

“I thought you might like that.”

“Oh, you’re right, but I think Mary-Beth is beginning to be a little disappointed, though.”

He snorted as he raised the cup to his lips, taking a long sip.

Ada smirked as she glanced at him. He never had anything smart to say back to her when she brought up the other woman’s not very subtle attraction to him. An attraction that Ada was, reluctantly, starting to understand.

_Understand_ , not _feel_.

_That would just be completely ridiculous._

_**Absolutely** ridiculous._

Blowing on her hot coffee, Ada then looked up at him, raising her eyebrows slightly. “How about after you shave we go out for a ride and maybe some hunting? See if you’re really as better as you say you are.”

“I think I might be up to that.”

Her eyes flicked over him, a smile pulling at her lips. “We’ll see.” Raising her eyebrows, she turned away. “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes, Morgan.”

He watched her as she headed back into the camp, a smile lingering on her lips. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he exhaled a breath.

_You really are a fool of a man._

* * *

“Aren’t you a good boy? No, don’t eat that…”

Tugging her sleeve out of Faithful’s mouth, Ada smiled as she stroked his neck, his head turning towards her, almost nuzzling.

“You ready?”

Lifting her head, her response caught in her throat as her gaze fell on him.

One corner of his mouth was slightly higher than the other as he approached, a fresh white shirt on, a plain black waistcoat, and a black jacket that fell to just above his knees. His hat lay atop his trimmed hair, the ends of which now curled against the collar of his shirt rather than falling to his shoulders. He had cut his beard down to stubble, too, and though it was slightly patchy in some parts he looked… good. More like himself.

“Yeah,” she answered quickly, realising she’d left slightly too long a pause.

“All righ’, let’s go. I got somethin’ to prove and I’m not waitin’ on you.”

Her eyes kept drifting back to him as they mounted up, trying to ignore the heat that had risen to her cheeks.

_Pull yourself together, you can admit he’s an attractive man. A poor-tempered, boorish, attractive man._

Ophelia drew alongside Faithful as they rode out of camp, and once on the main path Arthur let her take the lead, content to be taken where-the-hell-ever, just happy he was out and on his horse once more.

Glancing over at her, she looked more relaxed, too, a faint smile on her lips. She’d pinned back some of her hair but that hadn’t stopped some stray curls from falling about her face, the steady breeze not helping matters. She was wearing the green blouse Sean had given her, he’d found out, and a thick black skirt, a wide brown belt wrapped around her waist. His gaze quickly lifted as she looked over to him.

Her smile widened. 

“How about a little race?”

“A race?” He snorted. “I ain’t a child.”

“You aren’t?” She grinned as she kicked Faithful into a gallop, darting past him.

“God damn it…” he muttered, urging Ophelia to do the same, racing after her.

“Where the hell are we racin’ _to_?”

“None of your business!”

* * *

“How about you have a little sit down while I find us a deer?”

“One of these days that smart mouth is gonna get you in trouble, Miss Sawyer.”

His low words had a smile pulling at her lips and a strange sensation running down her spine. 

She’d won their race, though perhaps it was a slightly unfair advantage to her that she knew where the finish line would be. As he’d grumbled at that fact and they’d dismounted, she’d just smiled widely.

As they emerged from a collection of trees, he realised she’d taken them to Bolger Glade, an old battlefield that lay to the east of Braithewaite Manor. Crumbling trenches, stone buildings and a church occupied it, along with rusting cannons and broken wagons. The earth was slowly claiming them, grass and plants growing over each object.

He was about to ask what the hell could be hunted around here when a dampness landed on his cheek. The black clouds that had been threatening had grown closer and rain drops started to fall, at first haphazardly then all together, pouring down.

“Ah, shit, come on,” he called to her, “We’ll stay in the church until this blows over!”

“What about the horses?” she answered, pulling a face as rain got in her eyes.

“They’ll be fine!”

They broke out into runs, dodging broken wood and rocks as she shielded her face with her hands, he grateful for his hat.

“So much for huntin’, huh? What a grand idea.”

“I don’t control the _weather_ , Arthur!”

They entered the decaying church moments later, slowing to a halt. Pushing her wet hair out of her face, Ada then wiped at her cheeks, blowing out a breath.

“Shit…” Arthur muttered as he came in behind her, shaking his arms out.

She held her forearms against her chest and rubbed her hands together as she walked a little further into the church, staying under the cover of what had been another level above. He followed her, removing his hat and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand before placing his hat back on.

“It looks like someone’s been here. Recently,” he heard her say and lifted his head.

A blanket and pillow covered a corner of an alcove, and close by was a burned out fire pit which he’d nearly stepped on. Stepping over it, her rolled his shoulder.

“We should be fine.”

He followed her into the corner of the church that gave the most protection from the rain. Leaning back against the wall, Ada blew out another breath, rather irritated that their excursion out was now ruined.

Arthur shook his arms out again, water leaping off of his jacket with the action, as he glanced through a hole in the wall. “It should pass soon, I can already see a clear sky beyond it.”

She hummed, thinking it better bloody should, the irritation still prickling at her. This was supposed to be a break for him, a bit of normality to ease him back into a routine, a bit of freedom. And _rain_ was ruining it. If it wasn’t uncomfortable heat here, then it was _rain_. They stood in silence, he watching the sky, she looking at the floor.

Her gaze drifted to him after a few minutes.

God, he was a good man. _Yes_ , she could very readily admit that, even to him. He wouldn’t want to hear it and would even vehemently deny it, but he was, she knew it. He wasn’t just considerate to her, but to everyone in the camp, always putting others before himself. There was nothing false about him, either, no masks he put on or shows; out of the two men who had practically raised him, he was more like Hosea than Dutch, and she was glad for it. He hadn’t pushed her, either, to tell her secret, and…

_If you don’t do it now you never will… His patience could run out… Then what would the consequences be?_

Straightening a little, she clasped her hands in front of herself, playing with them a little.

“Arthur, I…”

His head turned to her and she paused for only a moment.

“… I want to thank you, for how patient you’ve been. I very much have appreciated it. A lesser man would have asked me again and again or made me tell him outright and I’m incredibly grateful to you for not pressing the matter.”

He didn’t say anything or move as she spoke.

“I feel like, over the past couple of weeks, we’ve…” She seemed to steel herself then, her lips pressing together. “… What I’m going to tell you, I hope you do not tell anyone else.”

He nodded, straightening and placing his hands on his gun belt. “All right, I won’t.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Your word?”

“Would it really mean that much?”

“To me, yes.”

He gazed at her before nodding again. “You have my word, I won’t tell anyone.”

She wet her lips and pressed them together, her hands clasped tightly.

“Dutch’s words about killing Colm’s brother affected me because Michael O’Driscoll was my father.”

She’d spoken the words slowly so he knew there was no chance he could have misheard, but… 

_Jesus fucking Christ…_

He stared at her, something in him twisting sharply.

She didn’t take her eyes off of him, watching for every single reaction he gave as, knowing there was no way of going back, she continued.

“When my father met my mother he was already halfway to leaving the gang. He was disillusioned and wanted a different life, a better one, and after meeting and falling in love with my mother, he then thought it might be possible. He told Colm that after he married my mother he wanted to leave and raise the family they would have together the right way. Colm agreed and he actually came to visit us several times over the years, with a few trusted members of the gang. He visited us nearly every Christmas, brought us presents for them and at our birthdays, ones that he promised he’d bought but we knew he hadn’t.”

A dam seemed to have broken inside her, now, because she didn’t, _couldn’t_ , stop, the words coming out faster. 

“Then when I was five there was a bad winter and all our animals died as well as our crops. We had very little money because my father had spent it all on the farm and getting the best things he could find for us, so he wrote to Colm for help. Colm came to our farm and said he couldn’t loan him any money but my father could earn it by helping him with a job. My father refused and said he wasn’t part of that life anymore, and Colm called him a coward and said would he really rather see his family starve than be a man and they had an awful argument and in the end my father said he didn’t want to know Colm, he didn’t consider him family anymore and he didn’t want to see him ever again. Colm left and we thought that was the end of it. Then two weeks later four men broke into our house, all wearing masks, I heard them kick the door down, and my father ran out of his and my mother’s bedroom with his shotgun but they were too quick and one man pinned him to the ground.”

She wasn’t looking at him now, her eyes fixed on the ground as if she could see it happening all over again. 

“I opened my door and saw him there and I called out and started to run to him when one of the men grabbed me and told me to be quiet and pressed his knife against my throat and told me he’d kill me if I screamed and then, and then a man stepped forward, a man with dark hair, and he shot my Da in the heart and he didn’t say a word and Mama screamed and Thomas cried and I couldn’t do anything and then, then they just left, without saying a word, they didn’t take anything, they didn’t rob us, they just left and Mama ran to Da and she wouldn’t stop screaming and Thomas wouldn’t stop crying and I just stood there, I just…”

She didn’t realise tears were streaming down her cheeks until she broke off with a shuddering breath. Her eyes finally lifted after a moment, meeting his gaze.

He hadn’t moved, his features expressionless.

“You’re Colm O’Driscoll’s niece?” His voice was low and quiet.

“Yes,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “My name is Adaline O’Driscoll.”

“Why didn’t you tell us your real name?”

“Because I didn’t know what any of you were like, I didn’t know what Dutch van der Linde would do with Colm O’Driscoll’s niece, even though I’m not a part of his life, I didn’t know what would happen.”

He was still giving _nothing_ away, his eyes fixed on her.

Her heart was pounding against her ribcage and she had to remind herself to breathe.

_This was a mistake—_

“What happened when they took us?”

“Colm realised it was me because of my ring.” She held her bare, right hand up, dropping it after a moment. “It was my father’s, it’s a family heirloom, his father gave it to him. It’s one of a kind. And then…”

He kept silent as she paused, wiping her cheeks. 

“When he was talking to me he talked about my brother and said he’s alive, but he can’t be because when he was sixteen, I was twelve, he left in the middle of the night, we found a note from him saying he’d gone to find Colm to kill him, and my mother wept for days and we waited, we waited a _year_ and he never returned so we knew he was dead because he wouldn’t have stayed with Colm, he wouldn’t have, but Colm said he’d told him that it was Dutch who’d done it and that Thomas believed him but Thomas wouldn’t do that, he wouldn’t have left us…”

She was crying again, albeit silently.

It was as if all the pain, all the burdens she had to bear, all the secrets, all she’d had to suppress to keep her mother going, finally came out in simply being able to tell somebody about it.

“An— Adaline, what do you want to do now?”

She frowned as she lifted her head. 

“What?”

“What do you want to happen now?”

Her mouth opened and closed slightly. 

“I don’t know. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

He finally looked away from her, his hand running down his mouth as he placed his other hand on his hip.

_Oh, God, he’s going to cast me out, he’s going to tell me go, and I won’t blame him—_

“Colm knows you’re with us.”

“Yes.”

“For whatever reason, he’s going to want you back.”

“Yes, he said something to that effect when he took us.”

“So, I reckon… the safest thing is you stay with us.”

She ceased breathing as he turned to her. “What?”

“We can protect you. The others don’t need to know. Colm won’t come this far south, anyway, not with the law and bounty hunters around. Probably not with the Lemoyne Raiders around, too.”

He was moving towards her.

She started shaking her head, utterly confused. “Why, why would you do this for me?”

He stopped before her, and, using a finger, he brushed away her tears.

“Save people as need savin’.”

She laughed, all tension suddenly, thankfully, leaving her body, and his finger brushed down her cheek.

“I need saving, do I?”

“Like no one else I’ve met before.”

“I think I’m fine.”

One corner of his mouth rose higher than the other as he looked at her, his finger settling under her chin.

It made her already rapidly beating heart stutter slightly.

Then he dropped his hand.

“You ain’t gonna kill Dutch, are you?”

That certainly caught her off guard. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

He didn’t respond for a few moments, then placed his hand on his belt, inclining his head.

“Well, I won’t tell anyone.”

She smiled as she exhaled a breath. “Thank you.”

He shifted his weight to his other foot, arching an eyebrow.

“So, I’m to call you Adaline now?”

“Yes, when we’re alone. Or Ada, actually. Only my mother called me Adaline.”

“It’s a pretty name.”

She ignored the heat that rose on her cheeks _again_.

“Thank you.”

“Who’s Annie Sawyer? You came up with it pretty fast,” he continued at her look.

“Our maid.”

“You had a _maid_?”

_Oh, **shit**._

“… Yeah, we hired her when we arrived in Strawberry to help my mother… And a farm hand.”

“How could you afford that?”

Her stomach twisted, and she allowed herself the decency to look somewhat sheepish. “Uh… Well, you see, let me provide some context, uhm, when I said, when I first came to the camp, that my sister, mother and uncle had died, well, it was actually, my mother, our maid, Annie, and our farm hand, Adam, and… Well, we moved to Strawberry to be near my mother’s brother, my real… other, actual uncle.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Now, hold on… you said you had no more family.”

She wet her lips, her teeth slowly grazing over her lower one. “… Seeing as I’m being honest, there’s something else. My uncle is Nicholas Timmins, mayor of Strawberry.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

She spoke quickly again, however this time just because of how exasperated he looked rather than because she was frightened. “We moved in with him after we finally admitted Thomas wasn’t coming back, that he had died. My mother wasn’t coping and he offered to look after us. He was the only one of my mother’s family still talking to her after she married my father. He was shunned by the family, too, years before she met my Da, I don’t know why. He… well, I never really got along with him. He acted like he was more than he was and we were part of his show. He had a new house built for us, gave us Annie, and Adam. I don’t know where he got his money from but he was on a real mission to turn Strawberry into something grand. I don’t think he’ll be particularly saddened at my disappearance.”

He stared at her, then exhaled a bewildered laugh. “Shit, you got any more surprises?”

She smiled, her sheepish expression lingering. “That’s the last one, I promise.”

“You sure? Nothin’ else you want to share?”

She laughed as she shook her head. “Nothing else, I swear it.”

He shook his head with a weary sigh, a smile pulling at his lips. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Ada.”

She liked how her name sounded on his tongue.

“It’s nice to meet you—”

She broke off suddenly as voices came from nearby, carried by the wind.

Arthur lifted his head and moved to the wall beside them. Peering out of the hole in the rock that had once been a window, he pressed his lips together.

“Shit,” he murmured, “Seven of them. They look like Lemoyne Raiders. Probably use this as a hideout.”

The men were moving quickly, eager as they had been to get out of the rain.

“We ain’t gonna be able to get out without them seein’ us, so…” He glanced at her, looking her up and down which had her raising her eyebrows.

“Are you going to throw me to them and run away?”

A corner of his mouth lifted as he moved away from the wall and shrugged his jacket off.

“Nah, but that can be the back up plan.”

Stepping closer to her, he then draped his jacket around her shoulders and adjusted it, his hands sweeping over her shoulders and collar bones.

She felt herself becoming slightly flustered at his act of chivalry, and the fact she could feel a slight warmth from it from his body, a gentle expression of gratitude ready to break free, when he murmured, “Follow my lead, we don’t want to spook ‘em.”

_Of course._

Nodding, Ada folded her arms and opened her mouth to ask what exactly his plan was, his history of them not spectacular, when he leaned his shoulder against the wall beside her and his arm slid over her stomach and around her waist. Then, his chin settled gently on top of her wet hair.

Her mouth dropped open slightly.

Before she could, again, question him, the voices of the men grew louder as they entered the ruined church.

”… Ah, shit, it’s gotten all in m’ britches, I hate the God damn rain.”

“Well, Jackie, if you had worn your…”

The man speaking trailed off as they rounded the corner, their eyes darting between Ada and Arthur.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ in here?”

Arthur lifted his head as his arm dropped from her, a warm smile on his lips.

“Woah, woah, fellers, easy. My wife and I are just takin’ shelter from the rain. We didn’t know this belonged to anybody.”

_Wife? Oh my **Lord** …_

“Are you now?”

A man with blonde, lank hair stepped forward, quickly establishing himself as the apparent leader of this group as the other men looked to him.

“Well, this here property belongs to the Lemoyne Raiders. You’re trespassin’, friends.”

“Oh, really? Goodness, there aren’t any signs.”

_That mouth really is gonna get her in trouble._

Arthur’s humour quickly faded as the blonde man looked at her, arching an eyebrow, and stepped closer.

Then, he looked at Arthur. ”You need to keep your woman in check, friend.”

Arthur held the man’s gaze, knowing drawing his revolver at that moment was _not_ a clever thing to do.

“She made a fair point, friend, but we’re not from around here so we don’t know no better.”

“Yeah, you don’t.” Arthur didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes as he smiled suddenly. “Forgive me, strangers, for not welcomin’ you properly. You see, somethin’ else you don’t know is that you gotta pay a toll to the Lemoyne Raiders to enter these parts. Did you pay a toll, friend?”

_God, these people are annoyin’._

“No, I can’t say that we did.”

“Well, no trouble, friends, you can pay us right now. Ten dollars.”

“Ten dollars? That’s a high price for a shit hole of a state.”

Arthur’s eyes closed briefly.

_She’s gonna get us both killed and if she don’t then I’m gonna kill her._

All seven men looked like they’d just been slapped across the face.

The blonde man stepped closer to her, prompting Arthur to shift his stance, his shoulder shielding her slightly.

“If you can’t pay that, bitch, then I’m sure we can come to some sort of other arrangement—”

His leering expression was suddenly splattered with blood as a gunshot went off, and Arthur’s gun belt felt lighter.

_Oh, for Christ’s sake…_

Gritting his teeth as the man fell, a gaping hole in his chest, Arthur drew his other revolver with lightening speed and shot over him, two of the other men falling, too, as bullets struck their chests and neck. In the same moment, as shouting broke out from the remaining four men and they dove for cover, Arthur reached out and wrapped his arm around Ada’s waist, hauling her to the side as he pressed his back against the wall, holding her against him.

“Are you out of your God damn mind?” he hissed, staring down at her and the flecks of blood that covered her face.

“Well, what were we going to do, _pay_ them?” she retorted, her hand braced against his chest.

As she raised her other hand, the revolver she’d swiftly pulled from his gun belt gripped in it, and leaned away from him, peering around the wall, Arthur muttered a curse.

“Well… A warnin’ would have been nice.”

She just snorted and he suddenly held her tighter as he heard a gun shot before he realised she was the one who’d fired.

Then, she was out of his arms.

He killed an order on his tongue for her to _get right back here_ as she darted across to crouch in the ruins, an intact section of wall covering her. Bullets fired and missed her by a wide margin.

_The idiots probably ain’t even lookin’._

Nearing the edge of the wall, he joined her in firing at the four men who remained. Two went down quickly, and not because of him. He couldn’t stop himself from repeatedly glancing over at her, watching her as she made each bullet count.

So, she _could_ shoot at what was shooting back.

He shot one man in the back as he tried to run, and she got the last man as he raised his head to call out to him.

Silence descended.

Sighing, he picked his jacket up from the floor, it having fallen from her as she’d made for new cover. She wiped an arm over her face, clearing the little spots of blood from her skin, inhaling a long breath.

“So, I guess you’re all right with killin’ now?” he asked, arching an eyebrow

She shrugged. “Well, it had to be done. They weren’t good men.”

“Neither am I.” 

She glanced at him as she handed his revolver back. “Some allowances can be made.”

He holstered the gun. “Dutch ain’t a good man either.”

She pressed her lips together, wiping her hands on her skirt. “Well…” Licking her lips, she moved past him. “Come on, let’s get back.”

Puling his jacket on, he sighed as he followed her out into the gentle rain.

* * *

He watched her that night. She danced with Sean as Javier played a song on his guitar and everyone sang along, gathered around the main camp fire. She laughed loudly at most of the things Sean said, a wide smile on her lips.

He’d admit, not proudly, that how he’d carried out his plan earlier had been with somewhat more commitment than he would have usually given. He’d done the husband and wife routine before with Karen, but he hadn’t wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

And he had held Ada. He couldn’t shake from his mind the feel of her pressed against him, that fire in her eyes he was beginning to crave whenever he looked at her burning bright. He wanted to hold her again. He wanted to do more, so much more.

The only reason he allowed himself these fantasies was because he knew they would never come to pass.

Exhaling a breath, he lowered his gaze to the fire as he placed a cigarette between his lips.

Sean twirled her with more flourish than was necessary before he pulled her back in and continued the haphazard waltz they were doing. The twirl had taken them away from the group and he glanced up, his gaze settling on them before it returned to her.

She was still smiling and it filled him with a decent sense of pride that he could bring joy to her.

“So…” he began, keeping his voice low so only she could hear. “… What’s with you and King Arthur?”

She blinked in surprise, her forehead dipping.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, spendin’ all these mornin’s together. Goin’ out of camp earlier. Is he payin’ ye?”

She snorted and glanced over at Arthur as they swayed. He was talking to John, elbows on his knees and a cigarette between his lips. Just looking at him, though… A strange sensation made her stomach flutter, and she swiftly returned her attention to Sean.

“Nothing’s going on. I just enjoy his company, that’s all.”

“Well, there’s enjoyin’ company and then there’s _enjoyin’ company_.”

“It is most decidedly the former, Sean MacGuire.”

“Because he’s too much of a dumb bastard to realise ye want the latter?”

She opened her mouth then closed it firmly, trying desperately hard to suppress the smile that threatened.

“I do _not_ want—”

“Ye don’t have to worry about me, Annie, I won’t be goin’ tellin’ anyone. Especially not the big, old, dumb boy himself.”

She exhaled an exasperated sigh as he twirled her once more, though, again, she was smiling. As he sang along to the bawdy song Javier had started to play, she thought, not for the first time, about telling him the truth, about telling him who she really was but… That would just complicate things, and if she told him then she’d feel like she had to tell Sadie, and someone would slip up. It wasn’t a matter of trust but safety.

No, she’d keep it, for now. She would tell him someday.

* * *

Ada had an early dinner the next day with Sadie, Arthur and Sean having vanished earlier in the day and the girls either during chores or sleeping through the heat, taking the chance while Susan did the same. Not that Sadie was a last resort, far from it, Ada loved talking and sitting with her, and was allowing herself to become incredibly fond of her. They sat on the log on the bank, looking out across the river and sharing a bread roll with their stew.

“We should go out huntin’ later, this is just vegetables and water,” Sadie scoffed, pushing the lumps around in her bowl.

“I think I tasted something like meat but I’m not sure.” Ada wrinkled her nose as she inspected her own portion, opting to just mainly mop up the liquid with the bread.

Pearson was usually a good cook but nobody had brought in anything bigger than a squirrel in the last couple of days, either too busy with ‘business’ or just not bothering.

She’d hoped that she and Arthur would have been able to bring something substantial in but due to the shoot-out at the church they’d left quickly, and the rain hadn’t exactly provided ideal conditions. 

She couldn’t help but think about what had happened. Arthur’s touch, his closeness, his _trust_ …

_Oh, Lord…_

She so wished she could confide in Sadie, just hear somebody else’s thoughts that weren’t her own that rattled around day and night in her brain. But, no… Maybe someday.

“I’m thinkin’ of going after O’Driscolls.”

Sadie’s sudden statement in their silence, cutting through her thoughts, made her still, her gaze darting up to her. Sadie just looked out across the water, chewing on her vegetables.

“Okay… I know the obvious reason but… why?”

“‘cause I can’t rest.” She inhaled a breath. “It’s all I think about. I can’t _stand_ the thought of them out there, doin’ awful things to other people, ruinin’ more lives. I can do somethin’ about it so why shouldn’t I?”

Ada licked her lips. She was considering her next set of words carefully, not wanting to insult Sadie’s capabilities or state the obvious, when Sadie shrugged.

“I’m just thinkin’ about it, anyways. Nothin’ certain.”

“Right.”

That seemed to end the conversation, decidedly so when Sadie pulled a face and made another comment on the food. Ada took the deviation and ran with it, humming her agreement.

A gnawing, unsettling feeling began in her stomach, however, and she used the excuse of the food to stop eating.

* * *

“You’re lookin’ real nice today, Bill.”

“Shut up.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow as he approached the three men loitering by the side of the bank, his thumbs tucked into his gun belt. Micah chuckled and glanced up before raising his hands at the sight of Arthur and standing from where he’d been sat on the stairs.

“Been waitin’ for you, Arthur, it’s nearly God damn evenin’.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have kept you,” Arthur drawled.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

Micah, for once, didn’t seem in the mood to bite back. Instead, he brushed past Arthur, Sean and Bill following, and rounded the stairs to start walking down the main street of Rhodes.

“What’s the plan?” Arthur asked, following at a slightly slower pace behind the men.

“We’re meetin’ a couple of Grays over at the saloon,” Micah answered, turning to look at him with a faint smile. “They spoke to Bill about a job… needing security.”

“After the farce of stealing horses for them, why we doin’ this?”

“‘cause we need to stay in with them, and they’re payin’.”

“So, what kind’a security they want?”

“We’re about to find out, now come on,” Micah said with an air of exasperation, as if they hadn’t asked Miss Grimshaw to tell Arthur to meet them in town with no other information only an hour earlier.

“This seem legit to you, Bill?”

“Sure.”

“Dutch said we was to keep on dealing with them until we find this gold,” Micah cut in.

“Can we trust them?” Sean asked.

“Can we trust anyone?” Arthur muttered.

“Let’s just see what they say,” Micah nearly hissed.

“They said there was some big misunderstandin’ about them horses,” Bill murmured.

“And what about burnin’ their fields?” Sean added.

“They don’t know we had anything to do with that,” Micah now actually hissed. 

“Oh, that so?” Arthur said dryly.

“Yeah, they think it was the Braithwaites,” Bill said earnestly. “Listen, I know these Gray boys a bit now. This is on the level.”

“We’re stuck in the middle of some ancient feud but instead of playin’ both sides we’re bein’ used by both of ‘em,” Arthur muttered, trying to keep his voice low as they neared the Sheriff’s Office.

“They were sayin’ that Catherine Braithwaite—”

“Hey, hold up…” Arthur cut Bill off, coming to a halt and prompting the other men to do the same. “This don’t feel right…”

The street was quiet, far, far too quiet for the morning. They’d passed a few men on their walk but now… It was completely empty.

Sean snorted as he turned to them, arching an eyebrow. “ _Now_ it don’t feel right? I could’a told you that—”

A bullet tore through his head, silencing him. Sean died before he hit the ground.

“Shit—” Micah hissed.

“ _What the hell?!_ ” Bill shouted.

Men suddenly appeared everywhere, on roofs, in buildings, from alleyways, firing at them and they instantly started to fire back.

“Get down!” Arthur yelled as they ran for cover, drawing his revolvers.

“Damn it…”

“Sons of _bitches_ …”

Arthur and Micah ran the same way, Bill the other. Crouching behind a barrel, Arthur couldn’t stop to think, just firing back at whoever was shooting at him. 

“What the— God damn it!” Micah was furious. “I can’t believe you shot me, you bastards!”

“You okay?” Arthur called out, knowing Micah was behind him somewhere but not wanting to take his eyes off the attackers to look.

“I’m fine!”

There were many of them, but he and Micah were better shots. They fell one after the other, but they also kept coming, and Arthur felt and heard bullets whizzing over his head and past him.

“Is Sean dead?”

“Look at him, of course he’s dead!” Arthur yelled, though he couldn’t look at the body. “How could you not think this was a trap?!”

He turned, finally able to look at Micah as he started to shoot at the men on the other side of the town. Blood was running down his arm but Micah was firing back with all he had, rage twisting his features.

“You sure you wanna talk about this now, Morgan?” Then, he lowered his guns, his teeth gritted. “The cowards are in the gunstore! I’ll get the front, you take the back!”

Before Arthur could even think about protesting, Micah was already storming up onto the porch. Cursing, Arthur darted behind a wagon and paused for a moment before moving up the back steps to the door. As soon as he passed through the door, a man appeared, his eyes wide.

_These fools are in over their heads._

Arthur knocked him down to the ground and struck him across the face with the butt of his revolver. 

“None of these bastards gonna walk out of here!” He heard Micah yell from the porch as he fired a bullet into the man’s head.

Straightening, Arthur watched Micah as he entered, killing the two men who were cowering on the other side of the shop.

“You’re gettin’ sloppy, Morgan,” Micah drawled as he reloaded his guns.

Arthur clenched his jaw as he strode across the shop, pressing his back against the space of wall beside the door. 

“Do you see that window in Sean’s skull? Don’t talk to me about sloppy,” he snarled.

Leaning forward, he fired out of the broken window, killing a man outside of the general store.

“They’re in the gunsmith’s!” he heard someone yell.

The man was soon silenced by Micah.

Moving out onto the porch, Arthur fired at three men starting to ride down the street on their horses, knocking them off. The horses rode over them, breaking out into gallops as the sounds spooked them.

“I want them dead!” he heard Micah yell over the gunfire as he joined him on the porch.

“You sure about that?”

Suddenly, the shooting ceased. Breathing hard, Arthur quickly scanned the street, his eyes darting from building to building for any sign of movement. Was this another trap?

“See that? Those cowards are runnin’ away!” Micah called out gleefully, exhaling a harsh laugh as they watched a few men jump up onto horses and gallop away without looking back.

“Looks like most of ‘em,” Arthur answered, rolling his shoulder as he stood, sliding his revolvers back into their holsters after a moment.

“Not all of them,” Micah murmured darkly, his guns still drawn as he headed down the steps.

“Sheriff Gray…”

His jaw moving, Arthur followed after him. Looking over his shoulder, then frowned, slowing a little.

“And where’s Bill? Where the hell’s he?”

“We’ll find him later, come on.” Micah was already striding ahead, his mind focused on one thing only. “Sherrif Gray! You need to get a hold on this town, it’s going to hell!”

“Who do you think you are?!” a near-hysterical voice called back from within the Sherrif’s Office. “A bunch of two-bit thugs from God knows where?!”

Micah and Arthur came to a stop outside the building, Arthur’s hand hovering over his guns.

“You’re so dumb to think we don’t know what you been doing!” Sheriff Gray continued.

“Come out, Sheriff!” Micah demanded, a definite taunt to his tone. “It’s over!”

“We put down far worse than you! A hundred times over! This is the _Gray’s_ town. Always has been, always will be!”

Micah laughed harshly as he gestured around. “Only Grays I see left around here is you!”

“You want us to come out? We’ll come out!”

The door suddenly burst open and Bill Williamson muttered out a curse as he was pushed out, a gun held to his head.

“Ah, Bill…” Arthur hissed, gritting his teeth.

“Guns on the ground now!” Sheriff Gray called out as three of his men came out behind him, their guns trained on Micah and Arthur. “Both of you!”

“Don’t do it!” Bill ground out.

“You know we can’t do that,” Arthur replied, “You put the gun down, Sheriff!”

“I’ll blow his brains out!” the Sheriff retorted, an arrogant confidence overtaking him now.

From the corner of his eye, before the Sheriff had even finished his sentence, Arthur could see Micah raising his guns. Grabbing his own, he raised one to the Sheriff and one to the man to his right. He shot them both in the head as Micah also shot at the Sheriff and the two men to his left.

They all fell with choked sounds and Bill grunted as he automatically crouched, staring down at the Sheriff.

“Shit…” he marvelled.

Arthur pressed his lips together and holstered his guns.

_What a God damn fucking mess… And it’s only goin’ to get worse._

Turning away, Arthur looked to the ground.

A few feet away lay the body of Sean MacGuire, blood drenching his face and chest. Kneeling beside him, Arthur shook his head slightly, his chest tightening.

“He was a good kid,” he murmured.

“Well, how the _hell_ was I to know?” Bill grumbled, staggering down the steps and towards Arthur.

“Let me see…” Arthur began as he straightened, his jaw tight as his grief turned to rage. “They set us up once before, they didn’t like us, we destroyed their farm, _should I go on_?!”

His voice had risen to a yell as he’d advanced on Bill, the other man stepping back as he clutched his shotgun.

“Go easy on him, Morgan,” Micah’s voice came from behind him, cool as mountain water. “He was out tryin’ to find a lead, same as you, same as Hosea. All you do is complain when things don’t work out. Except when it’s your God damn fault—”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Arthur seethed, turning on him now. “You don’t give a damn about nobody but yourself!”

“Oh, you act so high and mighty but you’re no better than the rest of us!”

Arthur had already turned away, leaning down and picking Sean’s body up as carefully as he could, placing him over his shoulder.

“I’ve ridden with you boys close on, what,” Micah continued, “six months now? And all you ever done was complain! And you can fight but you can’t _think_.”

“You can’t do either,” Arthur muttered as he strode past him, holding Sean’s body with a hand on his back.

Micah laughed as he and Bill followed, Bill watching for any more Grays. “Okay, cowpoke.”

_They need to leave before I kill him._

Striding towards their horses, Arthur headed for Bill’s.

“Bill, take the boy’s body. Bury him proper, someplace quiet.” He carefully lifted the body onto Brown Jack before he stepped back. “Micah, best you and I don’t speak for a moment.”

Micah laughed again as he mounted his horse, and Arthur’s fingers twitched to reach for his gun.

“I’m just so frightened by you.”

“Get outta my sight…” Arthur hissed as he mounted Ophelia, hearing Bill and Micah canter away behind him. “… pair of God damn fools.”

His tongue ran over his teeth as he surveyed the town, an uneasy sense of dread settling in his stomach.

_What a God damn mess we’re makin’ of things._


	8. An American Welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

Clicking his tongue, he urged Ophelia into a gallop, eager to put some distance between him and the town. He rode north, knowing Bill would head wherever he thought was appropriate to bury the boy and Micah would ride back to camp… and tell everyone what had happened.

_This might just break Ada._

It was the first thought that came to his head as he finally began to process, and he immediately wanted it out of his mind. After all she’d been through, past and present, what would this do to her now? Christ, she’d even said he reminded her of her brother and now he, too, was gone.

Arthur slowed Ophelia to a canter as they began to pass wide, open fields. A few minutes later, he slowed her to a walk.

He was being a coward and he knew it, putting off the inevitable.

But, selfishly, he was thinking of himself, of what he could do to help her, of what he could say. He wasn’t good at comforting people and God knew she would need that. What if she turned him away again, like she had when she’d first arrived? It wasn’t good for someone with her history to be left alone, not when another tragedy struck. He shouldn’t have left her that first time, but what would he have said?

_She’s got no one to make her laugh now._

As he turned east and took the familiar paths back to camp, Arthur tried to rid himself of the sinking feeling in his chest. He knew grief, knew it all too well, but he couldn’t let it get to him now. He would, somehow, have to be there for Ada and whatever was going to come the camp’s way next.

There was no one on guard duty as he came into camp from the north path but he wasn’t too surprised. They were probably mourning Sean as Micah relayed the story, lying through his teeth about how upset he was.

Arthur decided to hold onto the anger the boy’s death had provoked rather than the sadness. Anger was easier to deal with, more proactive.

Dismounting near a post and patting Ophelia’s neck, his head lifted as he heard raised voices near Dutch’s tent.

“… down. Everybody just relax. We are doing all we can.”

Frowning, Arthur began to move towards the small group that consisted of Dutch, Kieran, Molly and Trelawney. Dutch lifted his head and when his eyes fell upon Arthur he suddenly strode towards him, brushing past Kieran who looked distraught.

“Arthur, have you seen the boy, Jack?” He was the most rattled Arthur had seen him in a long time.

Arthur’s stomach twisted as he searched his features. “No, wh—”

“Where’s my God damn son?!”

Both men turned to see Abigail advancing towards them, her features thunderous. Ada followed close behind her, a Repeater gripped in one hand. Arthur glanced between the two of them, catching Ada’s eye. Her lips parted slightly, and he saw the fire in her eyes.

“Where is he?! Where’s my son?!” Abigail demanded as she came to a halt right in front of Dutch, her fists clenched.

_Oh dear God…_

“They took him, didn’t they?” Abigail’s voice shook as she spoke. “They took my son!”

“Who took him?” Arthur asked, trying to meet her gaze, his heart starting to beat faster.

_Not little Jack…_

“We think the Braithwaite woman took him,” Hosea called as he approached, as frantic as they all were. “That Kieran saw a couple of fellers, sound like Braithwaite boys.”

Abigail released a pained sound as she pressed a hand against her chest, and Ada settled her hand on her back as she demanded again, “Where’s my son?! If anything— Where is my son, Dutch van der Linde?!”

Dutch turned to her, fixing his eyes on her, and Ada had never seen him so serious.

“We will find him, we will bring him back to you and we will kill any fool that had the temerity to touch one hair on the boy’s head! Abigail, you have my word.”

Ada felt someone appear beside her and glancing up she saw John Marston, his obvious rage rivalling Abigail’s.

“Just get me back my son!” Abigail ordered through gritted teeth.

“I will get that boy back, so help me God, right now!” Dutch promised, and he, Arthur and John were already turning away.

As they began to stride towards their horses, Bill’s voice suddenly called out, Charles, Lenny and Javier behind him, “Dutch, we just heard about Jack! You need some extra guns?”

Ada lifted her head and looked to him, then Abigail. “We’ll get him back,” she murmured gently, before moving towards the men as the other women neared, Susan gathering Abigail into her arms as she finally released a sob.

“Yes, I do,” Dutch answered lowly, continuing towards his horse without looking at them.

Ada met Sadie’s gaze, and both women headed for their horses.

“Micah, Kieran, anyone strange turns up, you kill ‘em! Rest of you, let’s ride!”

The men, Sadie and Ada mounted their horses and one after the other followed Dutch out of the camp.

Ada could feel her heart pounding in her chest, every kind of scenario running through her mind of what could have happened.

 _They’ve just done this to scare them_ , she told herself.

From what she’d found out about this business they had with the Braithwaite’s, it wouldn’t have surprised her if they’d finally caught on.

_But to have a child pay for the sins?_

“Let’s go get that boy back!” Dutch called as they all began to canter, some falling in beside each other.

“They must’ve figured out what we was up to, Dutch,” she heard Hosea call from a little further up in the formation.

“Yeah, we just got shot to hell by the Grays in town,” Arthur added, his voice coming from behind.

She glanced back at him, her gaze sweeping over him, assessing.

“I know, I heard,” Dutch answered, “About Sean, too. I don’t wanna even think about that right now.”

Ada stiffened and her eyes rose to meet his.

_She doesn’t know._

Arthur opened his mouth, but then she turned and looked ahead.

_Oh, God…_

“We have to focus on Jack,” Dutch continued.

“I swear, I’ll kill _everyone_ there.”

“Easy, John, try to stay calm,” Dutch called to the younger man.

“I’m _fine_.”

Ada stopped listening. She gripped the reins so tightly her knuckles were white.

She could see from the corner of her eye Arthur had moved up to ride beside her as they turned onto a wider path but she kept her gaze ahead, Dutch’s voice ringing in her head.

_Focus on Jack, focus on Jack, focus on Jack…_

The chant continued on and on in her mind as they rode. Soon, lights appeared in the falling darkness of the distance as they turned onto a long stretch of road, and she saw a large house looming ahead.

Braithwaite Manor.

“Okay, get your heads right. Nobody makes a move until I say so,” Dutch ordered.

Slowing their horses as they neared a brick archway, Dutch then called out, “All right, everyone, dismount and come to me. We’ll go in on foot from here.”

Ada pulled up beside Charles and dismounted swiftly, drawing her Repeater from Faithful’s saddle. Sadie joined her at her side as they moved towards Dutch.

“First Sean, now Jack. We should have stayed out of all of this,” Lenny murmured.

“Bit late for that, ain’t it?” Bill muttered.

“Quiet, we’re going to fix this right now,” Dutch silenced them. “Come on, let’s get this done.”

He then gripped John’s shoulder as the younger man made to pass him. “John, you sure you’re okay?”

His mouth was set in a grim line. “Like I said, I’m fine.”

Dutch nodded, and drew his revolver, his jaw set. “Follow my lead.”

Everyone drew or adjusted the grip on their guns as Dutch led them down towards the Manor.

“Both these redneck families think they can ruin us? I don’t think so… Who steals a God damn boy,” Dutch muttered.

“There they are,” Hosea warned as they neared the house, and Ada saw men step out onto the porch, guns in their hands.

“I’m gonna let fly at those sons of bitches,” John hissed.

“John, I need you to stay calm.”

John didn’t answer Dutch, his gaze fixed ahead.

“Get down here now!” Dutch suddenly yelled out. “You inbred _trash_!”

“What the hell do you want?” a man called from the porch.

Dutch glanced back and gestured at them all to halt.

“Easy, John…” Hosea murmured, catching him by the arm as he made to continue moving forward.

Taking a few steps forward, Dutch answered, “We’ve come for the boy. You must’ve known we would.”

“Shouldn’t have messed with our business now, should you?”

The man speaking and two others moved down from the porch, only a few feet between them and Dutch.

Dutch inhaled a breath, steadying himself.

“Whatever complaint you have with us, alleged or otherwise… That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things. Hand him over.”

“Get the _hell_ off our land.”

Doors up on the balcony opened and more men appeared, there and on the porch.

Ada’s gaze darted between them all, and she could feel every one in the gang just as tense as she was.

Waiting.

Dutch’s voice was low and calm when he finally spoke.

“If you ain’t gonna be civilised about this…”

He raised his guns.

Everyone fired in the same moment.

Racing for a nearby tree, she dove behind it, gasping out a breath as bullets rained down. It was shoot or be shot at so, raising her gun, she fired at the men that spilled out onto the balcony on the first floor of the manor. 

_They took Jack_ , was all she thought, was all that rolled around in her mind.

Both sides yelled at each other, gunfire drowning out whatever curses they spat. As she reloaded, pulling bullets from the pockets of the trousers Sadie had given her, she watched Dutch, John, Arthur and Charles advance towards the front doors, the other men giving them cover. A well oiled machine.

“Annie!”

Her head whipping to the left at Sadie’s shout, she saw her beckon her and point towards the fields; men were running between the produce and trees, firing at them.

“Come on!”

Without thinking, she followed after Sadie, running and standing behind an apple tree close to the other woman. Her gaze darting between the men, she counted them.

Sixteen.

“Sadie, we can’t take them all on!”

“Can’t we?”

Glancing at her, she caught Sadie’s grin.

“Christ Almighty…” Ada muttered through gritted teeth as she and her friend began to fire at the advancing men, sending them diving for the nearest cover.

“How do you like that, you bastards?!” Sadie yelled over the cacophony of sounds.

Ada just aimed, shot, aimed, shot, aimed, shot, pausing only to reload. It wasn’t until one, solitary man tried to run to new cover that she realised, yeah, they could. With Sadie’s bullet finding its mark, all sixteen men were dead, their blood seeping into the earth. Blowing out a breath, Ada glanced over at Sadie.

“Well, that was—”

“Annie!”

Before Ada could react, she felt a solid force barrel into her, knocking her and her gun to the ground. Her head rattled as her teeth clamped together with the motion, narrowly avoiding her tongue. Groaning as she hit the dirt, her eyes snapped up to see a man snarling at her, a Revolver in his hands. Half-twisted on her side, her nearest hand shot out, shoving the gun to the side as he pulled the trigger. Gasping as a bullet buried into the ground beside her head, she used his shock to shove her body up and over, pinning him beneath her. 

She could hear Sadie cursing, trying to find an opening to take a shot as she and the man grappled, fumbling with the gun he clung to. He was probably no taller than her but strong, making her hiss through her teeth as he tried to bend her hands away. One of his hands suddenly left their scrambling and she thought she had the advantage, when his fist drove into her stomach. Gasping for breath as he rolled them over again, she had to swiftly block his next oncoming punch to her face. Undeterred, he aimed the gun again and she stared into the barrel.

A boot invaded her view, kicking the gun aside and she seized the opportunity. Thrusting her leg up, she reached into her boot, withdrew the knife Sean had gifted her and thrust it into the man’s heart. His eyes widened as he choked on his last few breaths, before he went slack and slumped forward. Shoving him aside, Ada sucked in a breath, her chest heaving. Shaking from adrenaline or fear she didn’t know, most likely both, she looked up, watching Sadie pick the Revolver up and pocket it.

“Thanks for that,” she gasped.

“If you hadn’t’ve been rollin’ around like pigs in the mud I could’ve ended it sooner,” Sadie answered, arching an eyebrow as she smiled.

Giving a much needed if slightly shaking laugh, Ada took her offered hand and let her pull her up to her feet. 

“You all right?” Sadie asked, rubbing her back gently as the auburn-haired woman brushed the dust from her trousers. 

“Yeah.” She straightened after wiping her knife clean on the leather material of her boot and pushing it back into it, licking her lips. “I think so.”

Sadie dropped her hand, smirking lightly. “Good. Let’s see what else we can do.”

She jogged towards the front of the house as Ada moved to her Repeater, retrieving it from where it had fallen. She could still hear gunfire towards the front of the manor, Sadie now possibly, no, definitely joining in. Checking how many bullets she had left, she took a breath, turned and followed after her. Two wagons filled with men came down the main path and she ducked down beside Javier, firing at them as horses screamed and tried to pull them away. They were handled quickly. Behind her, she could hear shouts and gunfire in the building and a swift glance around told her Dutch, Arthur, Hosea and John were missing, most likely in there.

Sounds to the left distracted her; men coming up from the cabins on the shore. There was only a small group of them, though, and it was almost a relief that, after firing twice, she ran out of bullets, her pockets empty.

 _I’m going to have to get a gun belt and bandolier_ , she thought faintly.

The men were finished with in barely a minute, and Ada and Javier shared a look.

Was this all of them?

Glancing over the crate they’d used for cover, she caught Sadie’s eye, who shrugged.

“I think that’s all of them!” Charles called from beyond her, standing.

They all stood, too, still watching the fields and pathways, just in case.

Screaming came from within the manor. All turning, they tightened their hold on their guns but none raised them. It was a feminine scream, without a doubt belonging to the lady of the manor.

Ada had never seen her, of course, but Hosea had described her to her only a few days before. She reminded her of her mother, physically at least.

Moments later, Hosea, John, Arthur and Dutch emerged. Mrs Braithwaite, thin and small in only her nightgown, her grey hair unkempt, was over Dutch’s shoulder, hollering and yelling. Beyond her, the manor was on fire, rapidly being engulfed by hungry flames. Ada could feel the growing heat of it on her face. The gang backed up, forming a close group as Dutch deposited her before them on her side.

She looked up at them all, full of hate and pleas.

“You damn yankee!” she spat at Dutch, snarling.

Hosea stepped forward, standing over her. She’d never seen him so angry, as calm as he sounded. “Why’d you take the boy, Mrs Braithwaite?”

“You stole my liquor—” Mrs Braithwaite began to yell.

“Boys are _off_ limits,” Hosea spoke over her, anger now seeping into the calmness. She could see how this man, who was so gentle and kind to her, had made this life for himself.

“— you stole my horses, ain’t no rules in war, Mr….”

“Matthews,” Hosea helped her.

“Yes…” she hissed, smoke unfurling around her, flowing down the front steps, “… that’s it.” She began to cry.

“Where’s the boy?” Hosea pressed, unfazed.

Ada saw the older woman grit her teeth, and she turned onto her back, looking Hosea full in the face.

“My sons gave him to Angelo Bronte, so my guess is Saint Denis.” She looked to Dutch and revelled in every word. “Either there, or on a boat to Italy!”

_Oh my God._

She felt sick.

Hosea turned away instantly, his features thunderous. “Let’s go.”

The rest of the gang moved as he did, returning to their horses, their expressions matching his. Ada went with them but couldn’t quite look away from the sight of the sniffling woman.

“Arthur, come on!” Dutch commanded, turning away.

“What are we doin’ with her?” Arthur asked even as he followed after him.

“Leave her,” Dutch retorted as she pushed herself up to her feet, weeping loudly. 

“I told you she was crazy,” Hosea called from atop his horse.

As they all walked up the main path to their horses, Ada stared over her shoulder, watching, unable to look away, as Mrs Braithwaite stumbled towards her home and into it, disappearing into the smoke and flames that touched the dark sky.

As she looked away, all she could hear was the woman’s cries.

* * *

It was a fast, quiet ride back to camp. Even Dutch didn’t say anything, or John. Looking over to the latter, she felt her heart tighten at his grim expression. He was going through the unimaginable, he and Abigail both.

 _This could have been avoided_ , was all that kept returning to her.

Only when they entered the safety of the camp did Dutch speak.

“Javier, Micah, Lenny take a watch, Hosea, John, Arthur with me, everyone else get some sleep.”

And that was all that was said. No one quite knew what to say, she supposed. There was one thing, though. Something that she’d had to shove to the deepest corners of her mind, something that was now clawing its way to the forefront.

Dismounting, Ada strode towards Arthur.

“What happened to Sean, Arthur?”

He pressed his lips together as he stroked Ophelia’s neck before turning to her, murmuring, “Ada—”

“Just tell me.”

He gazed at her, the obstinate fire still burning in her eyes.

“He didn’t make it,” he murmured after a moment. “Bill buried him somewhere.”

She stared at him, her features unchanging, though her breaths had quickened slightly.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll ask him.”

She made to pass him, her eyes already fixed on Bill, and he gripped her bicep, pulling her to a halt and around to face him.

“Ada, not now,” he implored, keeping his voice low. “He ain’t showin’ it but he’s torn up about it and now with all this with Jack—”

She pulled her arm from his grip and straightened, trying to pass him again. “I need to see him—”

“Ada—”

“I want to see him, Arthur.”

Taking hold of her arm again as she tried to stride away, he glanced around to make sure no one was looking before he led her behind Strauss’ wagon, the older man nowhere to be seen.

“Let _go_ of me, Arthur,” she hissed as he pulled her along, turning her to him a moment after.

“Ada…” He held her by both arms to keep her eyes on his. “He’s dead, Sean is dead.”

She inhaled a sharp breath, trying to keep her voice calm. “I just want to see him, that’s all—”

“He’s dead, Ada, he was shot in the head, he died instantly.”

Her jaw was clenched tightly but he could see her eyes beginning to shine.

“I just, I want, I need to see where he is and then—”

“Ada…” he murmured gently.

She took in a shuddering breath and finally dropped her gaze.

“All right.”

It was so quiet, the way she said it. He watched her, waiting for how her grief would reveal itself. He straightened as she shrugged his hold off.

She opened her mouth then closed it after a few moments.

“Good night, Arthur.”

For the second time, Arthur opened his mouth as Ada turned away. He watched her walk away, silent. 

What else could he do? 

If she hadn’t been trying so hard to keep her composure, Ada would have been grateful that he didn’t call out to her or try to stop her again. Pushing through the flap of her tent, she then came to an abrupt halt at the centre of it, her jaw moving. Her hand swiftly came up to cover her mouth as her eyes closed.

_Don’t cry. Don’t let them hear you…_

_He was shot in the head… he died instantly… he was shot in the head… he was shot in the head…_

She didn’t know how or when she ended up on her knees, her face buried in her hands.

He hadn’t deserved that. He hadn’t deserved to end like that.

Or maybe he had. Maybe he had done terrible things that he hadn’t told her about, why would he. Maybe he’d done awful, vile things to other people.

Then again, maybe he hadn’t.

She didn’t know.

Whatever kind of a man he was, he was now dead.

From one day to the next, people here were hurt in one form or another.

It was another cold reminder of the kind of life she was trying to adapt to, that she was trying to make work.

Because what else did she have?

* * *

They’d spent all night trying to plan, Arthur, Dutch, Hosea and John.

Should they return to Braithwaite Manor, or what was left of it, and find any other Braithwaite’s to try and get more information? No, that would be too dangerous. Greys would probably be out looking for them, too, or perhaps a miraculous event had happened and they’d partnered with the remaining Braithwaites, just for now.

Should they go out to Saint Denis to find out what they could? Yes, but where to start? Was it wise to leave the camp unguarded after all the mess they’d created? Should they move?

They were, each and every one of them, tired, frustrated and shaken. But what to do?

John was growing ever more impatient and, as the sun rose, Abigail had risen from a restless sleep, her cheeks still wet with tears and her eyes blazing, demanding what they would do next. After no clear answer was given, she stormed away and they let her. John turned on Dutch, his anger keeping his weariness at bay.

“We have to do _somethin’_ , Dutch, and soon.”

“It’s gonna work out, John,” Hosea soothed him. “It’s gonna work out, listen to Dutch.”

Dutch fixed his gaze on the younger man, nodding slightly. “I don’t expect you to understand this, but I have never been more proud of you than I am right now, brother. You’re doin’ the right thing by not rushin’ in to anythin’.”

“If I don’t get that boy back safe, I’m…” John shook his head, his eyes briefly closing. “She… She’ll kill us all.”

“I know, but, lookin’ at this logically? That boy is _fine_. They took him to scare us. Nobody takes a boy to harm him.”

“He’s right, John,” Hosea added.

“What do you think, Arthur?” Dutch asked, turning to him as he rolled his shoulder.

He nodded, trying not to sound as weary as he felt. “That boy’ll be fine, but of course Marston’s scared rotten. We killed all those people, we stirred up all that trouble…” He scoffed. “For nothin’.”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “No, no, not for nothin’. For _livin’_. Now we get that boy back, and we go.” He looked to all of them, then. “ _Trust_ me.”

“Hey, Dutch!”

Lenny’s call had all of them turning, Arthur straightening and squinting his eyes against the low morning sun.

“We got a problem.”

“Not a problem…”

All the men but Dutch suddenly rose to their feet as two Pinkertons approached, one with a gun resting against his shoulder. Lenny moved close behind them, a gun trained on them. Arthur recognised them immediately; he’d encountered them once before when he’d taken Jack fishing.

_Shit._

“… Visitors. A solution.” The agent without the gun smiled at Dutch as the camp began to gather around after hearing Lenny’s call, circling around them, most carrying guns. Only Abigail and Mary-Beth weren’t there.

Arthur rested his hands on his guns as his gaze darted about above their heads, checking the treeline for anymore agents. Nothing… yet.

_How the hell did they find us._

As his eyes moved back to the man who spoke, they fell across Ada. She stood beside Sadie, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her arms folded, her hair slightly unkempt. She must have just woken. Her eyes were red. She’d been crying, possibly all night. His chest ached.

The agent, his face pockmarked, glanced at them all, his smile lingering. “Good day, fine people, Mr van der Linde…”

Dutch was looking away, still sat down, his thumb and fingers rubbing together.

“… Mr Matthews, I presume,” He nodded at Hosea who didn’t move, before his attention turned to John beside him. “… and who are you?”

“Rip Van Winkle,” John answered blankly, his hand resting on his gun.

“Huh…” He looked him over. “… good day, sir.” He then looked at all of them. “Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency. Agent Ross,” he finished, gesturing at the other man.

Arthur had begun to move closer, putting himself between them and Dutch, who still hadn’t looked up, his back to them.

“Ah, Mr Morgan, nice to see you again,” Milton smiled.

“And to what do we owe the pleasure, Agent Moron?” Dutch suddenly said, sounding rather weary, his head moving slightly in their direction.

Milton seemed to have waited for this moment. “I don’t know if you’re aware but this… this is a civilised land now. We didn’t kill all them savages only to allow the likes of you to act like human dignity and basic decency was outmoded or not yet invented. This thing…” He gestured around. “… it’s done.”

Dutch rose to his feet. Arthur didn’t take his eyes off of Milton.

“This place…” Dutch began, finally turning to the Pinkerton. “… ain’t no such thing as civilised.” He began to step towards him, Hosea moving with him. “It’s man so in love with greed, he has forgotten himself and found only appetites.”

In her grief, Ada could have laughed.

_What a pretty line._

“And as a consequence that let’s you take what you please, kill whom you please and hang the rest of us?” Milton countered incredulously. “Who made you the messiah to these lost souls you’ve led so horribly astray?”

Ada’s stomach twisted. She’d thought almost the same thing the night before.

“I’m nothin’ but a seeker, Mr Milton.”

“You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mr van der Linde.” Milton’s voice suddenly rose a little. “But I came to make a deal. It’s time. You come with me, and I give the rest of you three days to run off, disappear and go and live like human beings someplace else.”

Some of them shifted slightly.

_Take it._

Ada eyes were fixed on Dutch now.

_Take it. Be the benevolent god you’re so desperate to be._

“You came for me?” Dutch actually sounded humorous. “Risked life and limb enterin’ this den of lowlifes and murderers so that they might live and love? Ain’t that fine…”

Quiet laughter arose from some in the group.

_Take it._

Milton’s jaw moved. “I don’t wanna kill all these folk, Dutch. Just you.”

Dutch looked at him. Then, he lifted his hands and stepped forward. Her heart stilled.

_Oh, my God. Oh, my God, he’s going to do it._

“In that case,” he was saying, “it’d be my honour to join you.”

Her heart was now pounding, staring at him. This was it. This was _finally_ it.

“Excuse me, friends,” Dutch continued lightly, stepping closer to Agent Milton, “I have an appointment to keep with…”

She jumped slightly as the clicking of hammers being drawn back on guns sounded as they were lifted or removed from their holsters by every single person in the group who had one besides her.

She’d been a fool.

“I think your new friend should _leave_ now, Dutch,” Susan said firmly.

Their loyalty to this man was astounding.

Agent Milton seemed to think so, too.

“You’re making a _big_ mistake,” he warned them, staring between them. “ _All_ of you.”

Dutch chuckled. “Yeah, dreadful.” Lowering his hands, he smiled. “We have got somethin’, somethin’ to live and die for. How awful for us, Mr Milton.” The smile vanished. “ _Stop_ followin’ us. We’ll be gone soon.”

"I’m afraid I can’t,” Milton retorted, “and when I return I’ll be with fifty men.” He pointed at them all, his voice rising. “ _All_ of you will die. Run away from this place, you fools! Run!”

Lenny tutted and stepped forward, grabbing him by the arm. “Come on.”

Milton snatched his arm away, glowering. “Get your damn hands off of me, boy.”

Without another glance at them, Milton turned and strode away, Ross following close behind. Lenny and Javier followed after them at a little distance. They all watched in silence as the men left the camp, lowering their guns only when they were out of sight.

“What now?” Arthur was the one to ask, with a faint sigh.

“We get outta here,” Dutch answered, his voice low, “and quick.” He glanced at Arthur. “Any ideas?”

People stayed where they were, looking to their leaders.

Arthur nodded a few times. “I know a big old house, hidden in the swamps outside Saint Denis. I’m sure they’ll find us eventually but it should buy us a few days.”

“A few days is all we need.”

Lies. More and more lies, and _still_ loyalty.

“It’s a spot out by Shady Belle,” Arthur was continuing, “Lenny and I got into a dispute with the previous occupiers. Place is well hidden.”

Dutch nodded, then looked to John. “You and Arthur ride out and make sure no one else has moved in.” John was already turning away as Dutch added, “And, John, we’ll get Jack back and we’ll get gone.”

John just nodded silently, moving with Arthur to their horses.

“The rest of you,” Dutch shouted, “Get packing!”

Ada turned away.

How could they all be so blindly loyal to this man?

Alone with her thoughts the previous night, she’d wept as silently as she could into her hands and pillow. Grief twisted to anger, then back to grief, then anger again at the cause of all of this, of all the pain that had occurred in her twenty five years of living. It all came back to Dutch. Why had he meddled with these two families? Why, now that a _child_ had been taken, was he still not seeing how delusional he was? Then again, she knew children had no sway over Dutch van der Linde’s decisions. 

She wanted to ask him, so desperately, what had caused him to carry out such a vicious attack on Colm’s, _her_ , family. Did he remember two small children? One black-haired and screaming, the other red-haired and silent? She’d tried to quell the thoughts because what could she do to him? Seeing the gang’s loyalty to him now only confirmed that they would all turn on her in a moment if she tried anything at all or even revealed herself.

Ada moved automatically as everyone else did, knowing what they had to do, familiar with the routine. It wasn’t until she was in her tent that she realised she had nothing to pack. All she had was the clothes she was wearing and an extra skirt and blouse. The blouse Sean had stolen for her. And the knife he had given her. She had nothing else.

_‘How many rocks have you got there, darlin’?’  
_

_‘Ten!’_

_‘Ten! Goodness, that’s a lot. Where are ya gonna put them?’_

_‘In my bed.’_

_‘In your bed?’_

_‘Yeah, so they can keep warm.’_

_‘I don’t think your Ma’s gonna like that.’  
_

_‘She doesn’t have to know, Daddy,’  
_

_‘You’re most certainly right there, darlin’.’  
_

A wagon rumbling past the tent made her head lift.

_Christ, that was fast._

Did she take the tent down? It wasn’t even her’s. John had allowed her to continue using it even after she’d insisted he could have it back, and now either slept with Abigail and Jack or against a tree if he’d annoyed Abigail, which was often.

“Annie?”

Turning, she smiled lightly as Miss Grimshaw entered, in her element.

“There you are, sweetheart. Why don’t you come and help the girls pack the supplies away? The boys can take this down, they can do it quick and we gotta move on quick.”

“Of course, Susan, I’ll be there in a moment.”

As the older woman ducked out of the tent, Ada took a breath.

_Don’t lose your head. You adapted to here, you can adapt to the next place._

With tired eyes and a weary soul, Ada lifted the two garments from the barrel and exited the tent.

* * *

John had left moments before, riding back to gather the others and lead them here to their new home. Arthur had been left the unenviable task of clearing the bodies from the camp. It had been too easy to clear it, the men unprepared and Arthur and John better shots then all of them combined. They’d discovered a wagon to the right of the house filled with food and ammo, and there was room aplenty in the house and on the ground which, all in all, would no doubt lift spirits.

And, Christ, did they need lifting.

On the ride out here, John’s despair was unsurprising but worrying. He was nearly echoing things he’d said before he’d left the gang, though now Arthur could barely argue against them. It _shouldn’t_ have come to this, yeah, they _shouldn’t_ have gotten involved in those families, they _should_ have left by now. It wasn’t just John either. He’d seen the way Ada had looked at them all, particularly Dutch, when the agents had arrived at the camp. He had seen the hate and disbelief smouldering in her eyes, could practically see what she was thinking. It was all things he, too, had been thinking, but he had to trust in Dutch. And he did, he always would.

The rumbling of wagons drew his attention to the window; he’d pushed the last body into the swap to the back of the house a short time ago and had taken the opportunity to take a seat in the front room, resting his boots on a stack of books. Getting to his feet, he headed to the front doors.

Ada brought up the rear of the group, keeping herself occupied as a look-out; a caravan this large would most likely attract attention, but John had led them down quiet paths and she was surprised they didn’t encounter anyone. The wagons pulled off to the right of the house and she drew Faithful to a halt as Arthur emerged from the house, stepping out onto the porch with his arms out wide.

“Welcome home, everyone, to my humble abode!” he called, smiling. “It’s fine livin’, ignore the corpses and the alligators, it’s paradise.”

Dutch laughed, shaking his head. “I love it! Miss Grimshaw, Mr Pearson, would you two kindly work your magic?”

She couldn’t believe it. Not a day ago one of his men had _died_ and a _child_ had gone missing. Yet here he was, smiling at their next great adventure. Dismounting, she turned away and her gaze landed on John. He was looking, too, a frown set across his features. She wasn’t the only sane one, then.

“Arthur, take a ride with me,” Dutch continued as people scurried about, turning The Count back towards the main path.

“Sure.” Stepping down from the porch, Arthur looked to Ada as she handed her reins to Kieran with a faint smile. He wanted to ask how she was, tell her that they were safer here, that he understood what she was thinking but—

“Come on!” Dutch called.

Sighing, Arthur gathered Ophelia’s reins from where they’d been wrapped around the porch railing and mounted her.

Following after Dutch, Molly suddenly appeared, playing with her hands.

“Dutch?” she asked uncharacteristically gently, hopeful, even.

Dutch looked at her, not slowing The Count. “Yes?”

“Could I have a word with ye?”

Dutch pressed his lips together, then looked away. “Not now. Come on, Arthur.”

Molly paused, slightly taken aback, then clenched her jaw and strode away past Arthur, her fists clenched. 

“Can you believe that girl?” Dutch scoffed as Arthur caught up to him. “All I’ve got goin’ on and she wants to talk.” He scoffed again as they broke into a canter, heading through the tree. 

Ada watched them ride away, torn between relief and unease. She could breathe a little easier when neither men were around, but she wanted Dutch within her sight and Arthur… She wanted to talk with Arthur. She felt it was safe and not too bold of her to admit that they were friends. With Sean gone she could only talk to him or Sadie, but Arthur was the only one who knew everything about her. But… No, she couldn’t talk to him about this. She already knew what his thoughts and feelings were; it would be Dutch and the gang every time, no matter what. 

Turning away, she raised her eyes to the building. It was the kind of grand house her mother would have loved to live in, probably _could_ have lived in if she hadn’t disobeyed her parents.

It was less closed in than their previous hideout, with a river on one side and swampy fields on the others. The heat was verging on oppressive, though, much more noticeable than back at Clemens Point. Trenches lay on either side of the wide path leading up to the house, a few dirtied guns lying within them.

“Dutch and Molly have got the big room upstairs,” she heard Miss Grimshaw call out as she emerged from the open doors of the house, directing the men to where crates and boxes should go. “Abigail, you’re up there with John, too, room first on the left with the bit of wall missin’. Arthur can go up there, as well, in the smaller room. Hosea’s got the room downstairs and, ladies, you can take the rest…”

Ada’s gaze drifted away from her as she continued on. She moved towards the white bandstand to her left, moving around a dry and cracking fountain. Stacks of sandbags lay within it, as they did in the trenches, and leaves and dirt covered the floor. It had space, though, enough for a person to lie down.

Moving up the steps into it, she dropped to her knees and began to brush the debris out with her hands, pushing it down the steps to her right. Soon, the floor was clear, and she rose to her feet. Moving one sandbag at a time, she then rearranged them, blocking off all the entrances but one. Deciding she needed more, she headed to the nearest trench, taking two and moving back to the bandstand.

“Do you need a hand?”

Raising her head as she dropped the bags, Ada met Charles’s gaze.

“No, thank you, Charles, I’m fine.”

She could feel him watching her as she returned to the trench, but she ignored him, carrying out two more trips. On the final one, he had gone, and she stacked the bags.

Taking her bedroll from Faithful’s saddle, who grazed nearby, and her blouse and skirt from the saddlebag, she spread the bedroll out on the floor of the bandstand, placed her clothes at the foot of it, then stood back to assess her work.

It would do. It was hidden, protected. The bugs might become an issue but she could deal with those.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she raised her head. It must have been nearing noon. Most of the wagons had been set up as had some tents, people were milling about, resting or exploring the land. Good, they’d all have space here, somewhat.

Moving down the steps, Ada found herself heading to the small jetty. She’d identified what it overlooked as a river, however the water was so slow moving it might as well have just been part of the swamp. Standing at the edge of the not-entirely-safe jetty, she looked down into the water. She saw indistinct shapes, various kinds of fish, most likely. Maybe even a water snake or two. She’d have to watch for those, as well as the bugs. She could deal with those.

Before she realised it, she was sitting down, leaning her head against a wooden pole. It was quieter than Clemens Points. Perhaps it was the rising, stifling heat that muffled sounds, or the warmth sapped the energy from beings that would make noises. She certainly felt drained.

Steps sounded behind her. She didn’t look up.

“Hey.”

Sadie sat beside her, balancing her rifle across her lap.

“Hey.” Ada watched a small fish slowly swimming in circles.

Sadie blew out a breath, leaning back on her hands. “I can’t stand the heat.”

“Me neither.”

The fish suddenly went one way, then started to circle again.

“Your stand looks nice. I’m sure someone might have some candles so you can perhaps read at night.”

“Someone probably does.”

The fish disappeared from view.

“Annie.”

Ada’s gaze rose, but not to Sadie. She looked instead to the far bank, watching the unmoving grass.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Sadie.”

“I know. And once upon a time, I didn’t. I understand, Annie, you know I do… But goin’ through it and watchin’ someone else go through it ain’t the same.”

Ada knew she was right, but she was so tired of talking. So tired of trying to rationalise everything and justify it.

“Annie, say somethin’.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Don’t say somethin’, then. Shout, scream, shoot somethin’—”

“Sadie—”

“You can’t keep it in, Annie, I know that now—”

“I don’t know what to do, Sadie.” She finally looked to the other woman, finding Sadie’s gaze imploring. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do with all this pain.”

Sadie gazed at her, her lips pressed together. Then, she pushed herself up to her feet.

“Come on.” She held her hand out to her.

Ada frowned now, staring at her hand.

“What?”

“Come on.” Sadie waved her hand. “We’re goin’ into Saint Denis, see what we can find out about Jack.”

Ada stared at her. Then, after a few moments, she took her hand, and allowed her to help her up.

* * *

Saint Denis was… It was big. And loud.

From the moment they passed under the ‘ _Saint Denis_ ’ sign, Ada could only stare. People were everywhere, racing about, milling about, laughing, shouting, talking, buying, selling, music was playing from what sounded like nearly every street. Police officers seemed to be on every corner and street, too, she noted. It was almost overwhelming, in the most delightful of ways. She followed close behind Sadie as they moved along the cobbled streets, happy for her to lead the way as she just stared and stared.

“Over here,” Sadie called, having found whatever she was looking for, guiding them towards a quieter street.

Dismounting and tying their reigns to a post, Ada arched an eyebrow at her. “What brings us here?”

“Best place to find answers about the underworld.”

Ada followed Sadie’s pointed finger to a house across the street, the porch a foot off the ground. Various women stood or sat on it, chatting, smoking and drinking. She breathed out a laugh, glancing at her.

“And how would you know that?”

“It’s just common sense, ain’t it?”

“Not to me.”

Crossing the street, Sadie cleared her throat. “Ladies…”

The women glanced at her, some instantly returning to their conversations while others just looked.

“You both looking for work?” asked a scrawny, pale, blonde woman with a thick foreign accent that was unfamiliar, an eyebrow arched, a cigarette in her hand. “Or a good time?”

Some of the women chuckled and Sadie smiled, stopping at the bottom step with Ada.

“No, thank you, we’re lookin’ for answers.”

“Get him to touch the thing at the top that looks like little lump, you will come very hard.”

The women laughed again and Ada’s lips twitched.

“No, thank you, we know about that,” she said as Sadie chuckled. “We want to know about someone called Angelo Bronte?”

The women went silent, all amusement vanishing. 

_Well, shit… That says it all._

The blonde woman took a long drag of her cigarette, glancing between them. “Why do you want to know?”

“A little boy’s been taken from his family, we’d like to get him back to them,” Sadie said, leaning her boot against the first step.

A dark-haired woman with brown skin exhaled a breath, her arms folding across her thin body. Another woman, almost identical to her, narrowed her eyes at her.

Sadie looked between them all, some not meeting her eye. “He’s just a little kid. Any information would help.”

“We can—” The dark-haired woman started to speak, her accent different but also unfamiliar.

“I like you two so I’m going to tell you truth,” the blonde woman cut in, flicking her cigarette aside. “You should stop asking questions. It’s not safe.”

“Why?” Ada asked, glancing at the woman who’d tried to speak.

“I just said, it’s not safe,” the woman repeated, “Listen to me and look after yourselves, ladies, you both seem very nice.”

“Oh, we ain’t nice,” Sadie chuckled lowly. “We can handle him.”

“It’s not just him.” The woman stopped herself quickly, pressing her lips together.

“He has men, then? A gang of some kind?” Ada pressed gently.

“Please stop asking and go,” the woman said firmly, folding her arms. “It won’t just be trouble for you.” Looking from Sadie to Ada, she then turned and went inside, a few of the women following after her.

Ada looked to the dark-haired woman, smiling lightly. “Look, we just want to know what we’re up against. Is there anything that could help us, anything at all?”

The woman swallowed, then stepped forward. The woman identical to her, a sibling most likely, caught her elbow but she shook her off, speaking rabidly in another language, French, Ada realised, seeming to plead with her. When the other woman just shook her head and tutted, she turned to them, leaning over the porch railing and spoke in a quiet voice.

“He has many men, he practically owns this city so please be careful. If his men found out we were talking to you then we would get in trouble, too, that’s what Jane meant so that’s all I can say.” She glanced around the street, then looked back to them. “Please stop askin’ us questions. I’m sorry about your boy but unless you got an army then you ain’t gonna get him back. I’m sorry.”

Pushing away from the railing, she made to go inside when Sadie called in a low tone so as to not draw attention, “Where is he based?”

The woman paused in the doorway then turned. She hesitated. “East, a house on the river.” Then, she vanished inside.

Her sibling shot them a cold look before she went after her, pulling the door shut.

The remaining women on the porch had already turned their backs, engrossed in their conversations. Sadie straightened and turned, pressing her lips together.

“This is bad,” Ada murmured as they moved back across the street to their horses. “This isn’t some other gang hiding out in the middle of nowhere that we can just confront.”

“We faced the Braithwaites,” Sadie answered as she surveyed the street.

“Again, they were isolated. This is a civilised city with police everywhere, there’s no way we’d get out alive.”

Sadie sighed as they stood between their horses, shaking her head. “Bronte’s got quite a reputation, too, if even whores don’t wanna talk shit about him. What do you wanna do, shall we check it out?”

Ada took a breath. “Well… It is on our way out.”

Sadie grinned, taking the reins and mounting her horse. “Look at you, gettin’ a taste for danger.”

“It won’t be _dangerous_ ,” she corrected matter-of-factly, gathering Faithful’s reins and pulling herself up into the saddle, “We’ll just ride by and have a short look.”

“Whatever you say.”

They rode idly through the centre of Saint Denis, pointing out various shops to each other, telling the other to remind them it was there. They could buy new clothes, get a haircut, buy decent food, there was a _bakery_ , and what seemed to be a well-stocked bookshop.

 _Life would be so easy if I lived here_ , Ada thought, _everything I could ever want only a short walk away_.

Easy and safe.

They were waiting for a tram to pass, a _tram_ , she wouldn’t even need to walk anywhere, when a small commotion caught their attention. Turning their heads, they watched a man chase a boy, possibly a teenager, out of an alleyway, across a street, and into another alleyway, shouting after him. Ada’s eyebrows rose, then her eyes widened.

Turning to Sadie, the other woman also looked surprised.

“Was that Arthur?”

Sadie chuckled. “I think it was. There’ll be a story there.”

“Should we go and help him?”

“With a kid?” Sadie laughed. “I think he’ll be fine. Come on.”

_Well, I can’t wait to hear about that one._

There were only three houses in the eastern area of Saint Denis that sat on the river, and it wasn’t hard to guess which one was Bronte’s. Riding past the wide, iron gate, they glimpsed men standing guard with guns, more men beyond them.

Blowing out a breath, Sadie redirected her gaze ahead. “Well, shit… It’s gonna take a hell of a plan to get in there.”

“What the hell are we gonna do?” Ada murmured, her heart sinking. She couldn’t bear to think of how afraid Jack must be.

“You wanna get a drink?”

Ada arched an eyebrow. “You know I don’t drink, Sadie.”

“You wanna get a book and a cake, then?”

“… Okay.”

* * *

Arthur rubbed at his face as he entered the camp.

_Those fuckin’ kids…_

Well, fuck all that, at least they knew where Bronte was now, the bastard. All he had to do now was get John, go back to Dutch, then they’d be closer to Jack and this would all be over.

_And I can get some fuckin’ sleep._

Dismounting Ophelia halfway down the path, he patted her before heading down the rest of the way.

“Hey, Karen?”

She looked up at him from where she was sat on a crate, cleaning a gun. “What?”

“You seen John?”

“Turn around, you fool.”

Doing as he was told, he saw the very man coming round the side of the house, striding towards him.  
  
“You got anythin’?” he asked before Arthur could speak as they neared each other.

“Yeah, we know where Bronte is,” he answered. He quickly continued as John turned and strode towards Old Boy, falling into step with him. “Dutch is at the east park in Saint Denis, we’ll meet him there and go and see Bronte.”

“All right.” John pulled himself up into the saddle, his features set. Gathering the reins, he looked to Arthur expecting him to have moved to Ophelia. Instead he’d remained where he was, frowning at Annie who, a quick glance told him, was stood a little way off, pushing a Repeater into the holster on Faithful’s saddle and mounting him. “You comin’ or what?” he asked the other man, Old Boy shifting beneath him, feeling how unsettled his master was.

“Yeah, I just…” Arthur sighed, looking up at him. “You go, I’ll catch up to you.”

John nodded and moved around him, heading away and nudging Old Boy into a gallop.

Running a hand down his mouth, Arthur cursed himself as he moved towards Ada.

_What the hell am I doin’._

“Where you goin’?”

She glanced at him as Faithful began to walk. “Out.”

He resisted the urge to grit his teeth. “I can see that.” He stepped in front of them, gently gripping at Faithful’s bridle to get him to stop. “Out where?”

She pressed her lips together and exhaled a breath before looking at him. “Bill told me where he buried Sean. I’m going to pay my respects.” She paused, then her features softened a fraction. "Can you let go, please?”

Watching her, he released Faithful and stepped back. His mind was made up in seconds.

“You ain’t goin’ alone.”

“Arthur—”

“I ain’t gonna hear it.” Mounting Ophelia, he turned her towards the entrance of the camp and inclined his head towards it. “Now, c’mon.”

Hissing out a breath through her teeth, Ada followed after him.

* * *

At any other time, Arthur would have snorted. Clemens Point? Bill had buried him so close to camp? Well, what had he expected.

Dismounting as Ada did, he followed her through the trees, glancing about in case someone else had decided to use their old camp.

“Bill said he was around here…”

He nearly knocked into her when she halted suddenly, his hand instantly going to his revolver, but then he saw it too. Two thick branches tied together to resemble a crucifix, stuck into the ground before a pile of rocks. _SEAN MACGUIRE RIP_ , the horizontal branch read. They stood in silence, staring at it as a gentle breeze blew the green leaves on the branches around them.

Suddenly, she made a sound which he thought at first was a sob, before he realised it was a laugh. She was _laughing_.

“He was so irritating,” she said through it, a smile pulling at her lips.

_That’s a damn understatement._

He couldn’t stop a smile himself, though. “Yeah, he was.”

She hummed, a laugh trailing off, her smile lingering. “Bill did a nice job.”

“Yeah, it’s quiet here,” he nodded, his hands resting on his belt. “It’s nice.”

“It is. Very peaceful.”

They fell silent again, lost in their own memories.

“Say some words about him,” she finally said quietly. “You knew him better than I did.”

Arthur shifted, rubbing his jaw. “Well, I don’t know about that. I think he was a good friend to you.” He glanced at her as he dropped his hand; she just kept looking at the grave, her amusement nowhere to be seen now. Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands together before his belt. “He was like an annoyin’ little brother to me, but we had fun ridin’ together. He was a good an’ loyal friend when it came down to it, an’ that’s what matters.”

She inhaled a breath, clearing her throat. “Amen,” she murmured. Wiping at her eyes, she shook her head. “Damn you, Sean.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Camp’s sure gonna be quiet without him now.”

“It sure will be.” Wiping at her cheeks, she turned away.

She moved out of the trees and across the grass. A rock jutted out of the small hill and she sat on the edge of it, her legs swinging a little as she looked out at the lake, water gently lapping at the shore, the sun making it sparkle. He joined her a moment later, standing beside her. It _was_ damn peaceful around here. Birds trilled and chirped, fish splashed about in the water, and out on the lake a couple of boats and canoes moved idly. He should’ve taken advantage of it more when they were here, but there was always something to be done.

“Arthur, I…” she began quietly, hesitating, playing with the finger where a ring should’ve been, then she looked up at him suddenly, frowning. “Are you meant to be somewhere? Weren’t you looking for John?”

“Yeah, but…” He waved his hand dismissively. “It can wait.”

He couldn’t tell her. She be damn horrified and probably hit him for being with her rather than trying to get Jack back… but Dutch and John could handle it without him for a short while.

 _What the hell are you doing here_ , _you idiot_ , a voice hissed to him.

 _You know what_ , another voice whispered back. 

“Are you sure? Arthur, are y—”

“You were gonna say somethin’?”

She huffed out a breath. Would she ever be distract him from anything? Looking back at the water, her hands fell into her lap.

“Dutch should be here, too, saying something.”

There it was, dangerous waters again. Shrugging, he folded his arms. “Dutch don’t do so well with losin’ people. Hits him hard ‘cause he feels responsible for us all. He’ll probably come, in his own time.”

He caught her faint smile. “You have a lot of faith in him, you all do, all of you really do love him.”

His tone was gentle but reproachful. “Ada, you don’t—”

“No, sorry, I’m not trying to…” She paused, licking her lips. “I don’t want… Oh, I don’t know what I want.” She continued on after half a second, frowning slightly. “Something is screaming at me inside, Arthur, that I shouldwant him dead, I _should_ want to kill him, but I… I just don’t know what I really feel anymore these days.”

He watched her his chest tightening even as he kept his tone light. “I think all that just means you’re a good person.”

This was getting dangerous. Dangerous and complicated.

She snorted as she slid down from the rock, brushing dirt off of her hands. “No, more likely hopeless.” Smiling lightly at him, she headed back up the small hill. “Come on, I’m sure you have something to do.”

Arthur immediately started walking with her, grateful for the change in subject. “Yeah, I should get goin’. I’ll take you back to Shady Belle.”

“No, it’s all right—”

“I’ll take you, it’s on the way.”

He heard her mutter under her breath, probably curses, as they mounted. “Fine, fine, all right.”

Heading back to the main road, she looked to him, amusement having suddenly returned. “Did I see you chasing a child earlier?”

He frowned, narrowing his eyes at her. “What?”

“Did. I. See. You. Chasing. A—”

“No, well, yes, what the _hell_ were you doin’ in Saint Denis?”

She lifted her chin slightly. “Sadie and I were asking questions, what were you doing?”

If his eyes could’ve narrowed any more, they would have. “Asking questions about _what_?”

She had the decency to look a touch sheepish. "Angelo Bronte.”

“You were both asking questions about _Bronte_?”

“ _Yes_.” Sheepishness turned to defensiveness. ”We wanted to be useful. Sadie wanted to tell Dutch what we found out when we got back but as you know he hadn’t returned.”

Arthur harrumphed. “Well, Dutch and I were askin’ questions, too, so tell me what you found out.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I’ll tell if you will.”

“Yeah, all righ’, fine,” he muttered. “But it ain’t a long ride so be quick.”

“Yes _, sir_.”

* * *

Ada wrapped her arm across what she could of the thick trunk, swinging around it to avoid wetting her boots in the swampy water. Sadie had been ghoulishly delighted to tell her about the sinking graveyard at the back of the property when she’d returned, Arthur having departed from her before they got near the camp so he could continue on. It must have been quite old, some of the gravestones having decayed from the constant assault of the water and she could barely make out some of the names on them. How many generations had lived in this house and been buried here? Who had been the last and what circumstances had led to the place falling into ruin?

It was something else, something occupying, to think about rather than what she’d said to Arthur, because she didn’t know why the hell she said it. In a moment of vulnerability perhaps, created from grief. She’d realised on the ride back that that was the first time she’d been able to grieve properly, that _Sean_ was the first person she’d been able to grieve properly for, with full understanding and complete with an occupied grave.

She’d been too young to really understand when her father had died. The only real memory she had of it was her mother and brother weeping, and how, in her innocent, kind, child’s mind she’d vowed to be strong for them as they both held her hands tightly at his funeral. Then when she and her mother had accepted that Thom had died her mother couldn’t bear the thought of a funeral or even a memorial. 

Ada hadn’t wanted to cry around her mother either; she would have got no comfort from her because she was too busy grieving herself, so Ada had had to look after her. Not that she resented her for it, God, no, she couldn’t imagine the pain she was going through of losing a child, but… sometimes comforting yourself just wasn’t enough.

“Hello, dear.”

Looking up, Ada smiled warmly as Josiah Trelawney approached, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hello, Josiah,” she answered, stepping away from the swampy graves.

The odd man was just that, odd, but she liked the tales he told of different cities and worlds, though they’d never spoken alone so this was a surprise.

“Bill said you and Arthur visited young Sean’s grave.” He smiled sympathetically. “Were you close?”

She folded her arms, a slight pang in her chest. “I suppose we were, yes.”

“Sweethearts?”

She laughed softly. “No. Fond of each other, yes, I think, but not sweethearts. More like brother and sister.”

He nodded, his smile widening a little more as he rocked on his heels. “Yes, well, we are all an odd little family, aren’t we.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” She didn’t feel it quite right to include herself in it. Not that she wanted to, actually.

“And you are a part of this family.” It was as if he’d read her thoughts. “Whatever troubles you, troubles the pack.”

She maintained her own smile. “That’s comforting to know. I’m very grateful for everyone’s generosity.”

“I’m sure you are.” If his smile hadn’t been so kind she would have been unsettled by his gaze. ”Sean’s death troubles you, of course?”

She frowned slightly. “Of course.”

“The event or the cause?”

She looked at him. “I don’t quite know what you’re implying, Josiah.”

He waved his hand, chuckling. “Forgive me, my dear. My wish to be mysterious and interesting sometimes runs away from me, as does my thirst for knowledge.”

She didn’t return his smile just yet. “If you wish to know something, just ask it, Josiah.”

He shook his head, that smile just lingering and lingering. “No, Miss Sawyer. Mystery. Mystery so intrigues me, it would almost break my heart to hear truth.”


	9. By The Light of The Silvery Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

Arthur, John and Dutch were gone for the rest of the day. Nothing to usually be concerned about, but she’d overheard Hosea talking with Abigail, saying they’d gone to see Angelo Bronte to get Jack back.

Angelo _fucking_ Bronte. To fucking get _Jack_ back.

She couldn’t believe Arthur had gone with her. He should have left with John, he should have been _running_ to help them get Jack, but instead he’d gone with her to do something they could’ve done when there were _slightly less pressing matters to attend to_. Why the _hell_ had he gone with her? No matter what way she thought about it she couldn’t wrap her head around it. One minute she was incensed, the next she was touched, the next she was mortified, the next she was just plain _confused_. She’d considered that maybe it wasn’t that strong a lead, but immediately shot herself down, almost laughing, with the fact that none of those men would leave without Jack, no matter what.

Sadie found her, almost mumbling to herself, frowning at the water from where she sat on the jetty after dinner.

“Somethin’ on your mind, lady?” Sadie said, taking a seat beside her with a groan.

Ada exhaled a breath and shook her head. “No, just…”

_Now hang on a minute…_

This was something she could talk with Sadie about without divulging any information about herself.

_Thank God because if I don’t talk to someone about it I will go insane._

Licking her lips, she looked at her. “Arthur came with me to visit Sean’s grave earlier.”

“… Yeah?” Sadie prompted when she just stared at her, arching an eyebrow.

Ada shook her head slightly, her hands palms up. “He came with me when he’d just told John that Dutch was in Saint Denis and they were planning on getting Jack, today, now.”

“Yeah?”

“Sadie,” she paused to let out an incredulous laugh, “… He came with me to Sean’s grave instead of going to rescue Jack. He prioritised coming with _me_ rather than getting _Jack_ , it’s insane, I don’t understand it.”

Sadie looked at her. Then she burst into laughter. Ada pulled her head back, staring at her.

_Maybe I’m not the only one going insane._

“Excuse me, what the hell is so funny?” she demanded as Sadie grinned, a hand over her stomach.

“Dear Lord, my sweet summer child,” she laughed, rubbing her stomach. “You sweet thing…”

“ _What_?” Ada demanded again.

Her chuckles subsiding, Sadie fixed her gaze on her, amusement dancing across her features. “Annie, that man _likes_ you.”

Ada stared.

Now that was one option she hadn’t quite entertained, because…

“No. No. _No_.” She shook her head, pulling a slight face as she looked back at the water. “No, that’s… No, he can’t.”

“He ain’t that disgustin’, is he?” Sadie laughed.

“No, _no_ , it’s not that…” _Far fucking from it_. “It’s just… He can’t.” She nearly implored Sadie as she said it, nearly begged. Because he couldn’t. Any way she thought about it, he just couldn’t. She had an undecided death wish against his adopted father, she was Michael O’Driscoll’s daughter, Colm O’Driscoll’s niece, she, well, she was _her_ , she was just Ada, it didn’t make any _sense_.

And it completely complicated things.

“Whatever you say, honey,” Sadie chuckled. “But I know infatuation when I see it, so you’re either callin’ me dumb or you’re just in denial.”

“Infatuation…” she breathed the word, half-laughed again.

This wasn’t part of any plan. Not that she had a plan. But this certainly wasn’t part of it. Yes, he was kind to her and he was nice and considerate and he made her laugh and feel safe and respected but he only did that because… Well, there was no sane reason for it. Other than that he… Well, _no_ , there was a sane reason; he was a good man.

Sadie just watched her, smiling. “You think any harder about it I think your brain’s gonna fall out. Just relax, woman. Just take a chance, if you like him, which I think you do. It ain’t no bad thing.”

_Oh, but yes it is._

“Hang on, you think I like him?” she asked.

“Like I said, I know infatuation.” Sadie nudged her with her elbow. “Just relax. Live your life. Take all the good things that come, Annie, you know we ain’t been gettin’ many of ‘em.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong there. But a whole lot of catastrophic badness could come from this.

_If there was ever a time to start drinking._

“Hey, do you think we—”

A woman screamed. Both of them were on their feet in seconds, staring towards the main path, three riders cantering down it.

Then they realised it was a delighted scream.

Glancing at each other, they ran for the house.

Dutch, John and Arthur came through the darkness, pulling their horses to an abrupt halt, and Susan gave another delighted cry, clapping her hands together, though Ada didn’t quite know why she was so—

“Hey, they’re back!” Uncle called out, rising from the log he’d been sitting on. “I… I think I see Jack!”

Ada’s heart stopped as she and Sadie slowed as the rest of the group convened. And he was right. There the sweet boy was, sat with his father.

“Abigail!” Dutch called out, a wide smile on his face. “Abigail! We got you your son, everything—”

“We got him!” John cut in with a grin as he saw Abigail. “He’s fine!”

“Mama!” Jack shouted, grinning and looking so like his father.

Abigail cried out as she ran through the group, tears falling down her cheeks as she beamed. John dismounted and lifted Jack out of the saddle, putting him on the ground as he continued, “I’m fine, Mama, they fed me good, Italian food. You ever eat that?”

“Come here, you silly boy,” she wept as she fell to her knees and pulled him into her arms.

Ada closed her eyes for a few moments as she listened to them.

_Thank God. Thank **God**._

She didn’t even want to think about what would have happened had something happened to the boy.

“Now let’s celebrate!” Dutch cried, and for once she was happy to obey.

Dismounting, Arthur watched as Abigail cried and cried and held her son as he babbled on about what a great time he’d had while they’d all been pulling their hair out.

Meeting Bronte had been… Well, he was certainly a different kettle of fish. He was a new kind of criminal, one that operated in broad daylight, had a fancy home on a fancy street, _everyone_ knew what he was doing and no one dared to stop him. He’d caught Dutch’s admiring gaze, at both the house and the man who owned it. Arthur didn’t like any of it.

He thought about what he’d written in his journal while he’d waited for them all to join him at Shady Belle.

‘ _I cannot decide which I like less, the swamps or the city. Both are full of parasites, reptiles and slime. We’re a long way east of land we know, and far from real open country_.’

How he longed for fields and wide open spaces where you didn’t meet anyone for miles.

He also didn’t like how easily Bronte had got them to do his bidding, but, well… Then again he did have Jack. But, he was back now and that was all that mattered. For now. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he followed the rest of the group to the main camp fire. Ada, Sadie’s arm looped through her’s as they walked along, looked back at him and gave a wide smile. It warmed his chest as he smiled, inclining his head. He wanted to speak to her but Hosea appeared at his side, clapping him on the back and asking for every detail on Angelo Bronte.

Javier was already tuning his guitar and starting to strum out a tune as people opened crates and passed around beer and whisky bottles, taking seats on whatever they could or standing and swaying to the music. Dropping their arms, Sadie sat on the log as Ada stood, folding her arms and smiling as she watched the group. This was when they were at their best; singing, happy, sharing alcohol, not a care in the world because they had _this_ win, despite what would face them once against tomorrow.

“For you.” Lifting her head, Lenny smiled at her as he offered her an open bottle of whisky.

She raised an eyebrow as she smiled. “You know I don’t drink.”

“Come on, girl,” Uncle chimed in from where he sat beside Sadie. “We’re celebratin’ ain’t we? One won’t hurt.”

Glancing at him, Sadie and Lenny, she sighed and accepted the bottle. “Fine, fine, if it’ll get you all off my back…”

Raising the bottle to her lips, she took a sip… and instantly nearly choked on it. She managed to swallow it down as they laughed, pulling a face and hissing through her teeth as the amber liquid burned down her throat.

“Oh, God… Oh my God, that’s awful…”

Sadie cackled as she took the bottle from her, shaking her head. “Well, hey, at least you tried it.”

“Yeah, and I’ll never try it again.” Ada coughed, still cringing at the taste. “Does anyone have any water?”

Charles handed her a skin of water, a smile tugging at his lips, as Sadie laughed again.

“You’re all awful,” Ada declared before taking a large sip of water, washing the taste out of her mouth.

“Awh, I’m proud of ya,” Sadie grinned, patting her leg as she handed the skin back to Charles.

“I absolutely despise you.”

Sadie’s cackle was soon drowned out by the sound of Javier striking up a new, rousing tune that they all around the fire began to sing with him. Ada watched them all, folding her arms as she coughed again. She couldn’t help but smile, though. At their very best.

Her gaze travelled them, going from person to person, until it reached Pearson’s wagon, Micah and Bill talking beside it, drinking, and a foot or so away, leaning against a table, Arthur.

“ _Ay, ay, ay, ay_!” the group yelled out, raising their chosen drinks at the apparent chorus of the song, as she moved over to him, smiling lightly.

He raised his eyebrows as she approached, returning her smile.

“Well, that was entertainin’ to witness.”

She snorted. “I’m sure it was. I’m so grateful to have so many friends around for that rite of passage.”

“It grows on you.”

She wrinkled her freckled nose. “I don’t think I want it to.” She looked him over as he chuckled. “How was it, getting him back?” she asked, her voice lowered.

He shrugged, taking a breath. “Easy enough. We just had to sort out somethin’ for Bronte, nothin’ too bad. That was it.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s extremely fortunate.”

“Yes, it was.”

She could sense that troubled and perplexed him as much as it did her and she opened her mouth to ask more when Karen’s voice suddenly cut across Javier’s ending song.

“Annie! Come ‘nd sit with me, Annie, c’mere.” Karen, who had started drinking even before Jack had returned home, gestured her over, patting the chair next to her that had just been vacated by Pearson.

Ada met Arthur’s gaze, a smile pulling at her lips. “Excuse me.”

He smiled as he watched her do as she was bade, sweeping her skirt out under herself as she sat. Like a proper lady.

Karen slapped her hands onto her knees as Ada sat, squinting her eyes a little. “How come you ain’t married, Annie? You’re so pretty, I bet you’ve had suitors at least, you must’ve.”

Ada’s eyebrows rose slightly as she glanced between the women watching her intently and a few of the men taking the time to drink.

“Well, I did have a couple when I was younger, yes, but nothing came of them.”

“Awh, you didn’t love ‘em?”

Ada smiled lightly as she shook her head, her hands in her lap. “No, I didn’t.”

“Are you a romantic, Annie?” Mary-Beth asked with a smile, her lovely face slightly flushed from the alcohol.

“Not particularly.” She shrugged, playing with the material of her skirt. “I declined them more out of practicality, they had nothing to offer.”

Karen released a laugh, raising her bottle to her lips. “That’s my girl.”

“How’d they court you?” Mary-Beth leaned forward slightly.

“Ah,” Ada waved a hand. “The usual, flowers, mediocre poetry, asking to dance with me when we had town dances.”

“Oh, that’s so nice,” Mary-Beth beamed.

“Not particularly.” She went on as Mary-Beth looked puzzled, “It just made me uncomfortable because I knew it wasn’t real, they didn’t mean it. It felt performative.”

Karen laughed again. “Jesus, God help the man who tries to charm you.”

“Amen to that.” Glancing up, Ada met Sadie’s twinkling gaze, raising her eyebrows.

Ada’s lips twitched as she shook her head, looking into the fire.

_Hell… Yeah, God help him._

The conversation seemed to be over when Karen began to sing along with Javier, laughing at nearly every line. She wished she could join in. They always sang songs she’d never heard of, ones that Ada didn’t think anyone would dare write, ones that were gently sweet, and some she couldn’t understand because of the language they were in. But it was entertainment enough to see Karen, Tilly, Mary-Beth, Susan, Uncle and Lenny sing along, as drunk as they were. It was the only time Susan and Karen got along, too.

She laughed and clapped her hands along to the music, though, as Uncle and Mary-Beth danced together to the fast tune, laughing themselves. It tugged at her heart a little, the happiness.

_God, I wish Sean was here._

Her throat suddenly dry, she stood and moved behind the chairs to Pearson’s wagon, needing a drink.

“You and I should go out for a drink in Saint Denis sometime, I promise not to lose you this time,” she heard Arthur say to Lenny, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Oh, God, Arthur, I think not,” the young man replied, laughing even as he pulled a face.

Arthur chuckled, patting him on the back before he saw her at the wagon. Moving back over to it, she lifted a skin of water.

“Can I offer you a water, too?”

“Sure.” As joyful as the night was, he just didn’t feel like drinking the hard stuff.

He took the skin from her as they both leaned back against the table, watching the revellers by the fire.

“You’re not going to ask anyone to dance?” she asked, a smile pulling at her lips.

He huffed out a laugh. “I ain’t much of a dancer.”

“Maybe I could teach you sometime.”

Glancing at her and her smirk, he arched an eyebrow as he took a sip of water, handing it back to her. “Oh, you’re that good are you?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“By one of your many suitors?”

Her smirk widened as she shrugged. “Yes. And many others.”

“How lucky we are to have you, Miss Sawyer.”

She laughed, and he looked at her, the little lines that appeared at the corners of her eyes as she did, the curves of her nose and lips, the curls that framed her face.

_Ask her to dance._

She looked up at him and opened her mouth to say something when she suddenly looked beyond him, frowning slightly. Following her gaze, he saw Dutch striding out from behind the ladies’ wagon, Molly following close behind him. Neither looked happy.

“Oh, Christ…” he muttered as he straightened, already knowing what was about to come.

"You have _ruined_ my life!” Molly yelled at Dutch, the music and singing luckily keeping the group occupied. Or they were just too polite to stare. Or used to it.

“I see things differently,” Dutch shot back, lighting himself a cigar.

“I’m sure ye do.” Molly sounded drunk, and close to tears. “Ye see _everythin’_ differently.” She sniffed then shook her head fiercely, halting. “Just leave me alone, ye _bastard_.”

Dutch just continued on, smiling and joining the group as if nothing was amiss.

"Are they all right?” Ada asked Arthur quietly.

“Nah,” Arthur sighed. “Haven’t been for some time.”

She followed him as he rounded the corner of the house, watching to make sure Molly actually made it inside. She did, tripping on the side-door step slightly, unaware of both of them watching. Shaking his head, Arthur continued to walk along the side of the house, Ada beside him.

“Why doesn’t she leave?” she asked, her voice lowered.

“Where would she go?” He gripped his belt, shaking his head. “She ain’t got nobody else. Like all of us.”

She frowned. “But to be this unhappy, though? Rather than free?”

His jaw moved slightly as he exhaled a breath. “You gotta have money to do that. Molly’s money is Dutch’s money and he don’t give her much if any ‘cause she don’t contribute. Better to be unhappy and secure, she probably thinks.”

“That’s so sad,” she murmured.

“I guess.”

She didn’t want to dwell on the tricky topic, though, not tonight, not when they’d just got Jack back safely. Clasping her hands behind her back as they wandered across the grass at the back of the house, her eyebrows rose a little.

“So, Saint Denis is an interesting place.”

Arthur chuckled, grateful for the change in topic. “Yeah. Could be some business to be made.”

“With street urchins?”

“Christ, don’t bring that up again,” he muttered.

She smiled broadly. “It’s not often I see you flustered, Arthur Morgan—”

“I was _not_ flustered.”

“Rattled, then.”

“I was not _rattled_ —”

“Shaken. Traumatised. Overcome.”

“I was none of those things,” he muttered. “I was just faintly surprised. The kids were a second or two quicker.”

“I think age is catching up to you.”

He snorted. They came to the small fishing shed that sat at the back of the property, Arthur slowing to let her move up the steps first. He followed her along the wooden walkway that wrapped around it and moved out onto the back landing. She exhaled a slow breath as she leaned back against the shed, her arms folding across her chest. The lights of Saint Denis shone in the distance, beckoning and welcoming.

“It’s so bright,” she murmured as Arthur leaned his hip against a barrel, raising his gaze to the lights.

“Yeah, and loud, and busy.”

She smiled. “You just don’t like people at all, do you?”

He glanced at her. “Not particularly.” She was certain he was mocking her earlier words.

“Another sign of age.”

“I am _not_ gettin’ old, I just have my preferences.”

“That’s exactly what an old man would say.”

“Will you shut up? I’m tryin’ to enjoy this joyful night.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You are a bossy man, Mr Morgan.”

He looked at her, raising his eyebrows. “Am I?”

She lifted her chin, nodding. “Yes. Extremely. Been bossing me around since the moment we met.”

“Why’d you agree to come with me, then, in Strawberry?”

“Lesser of two evils.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

Her gaze lingered on him as they fell silent, biting at her lower lip. She liked their silences, liked how comfortable they were but… It always gave an opportunity. An opportunity to ask one of the hundreds of questions she had, the comfort and ease they shared in each other’s company making it always seem like the right time to ask.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

His gaze returned to hers. She shifted her position against the shed, her hands behind her back.

“Colm said you were going to leave me. That you tried to escape.”

He blinked, shifting his own stance slightly. Now how long had she been thinking about that? 

“I didn’t know what I was doin’. Half outta my mind, I think.” He inhaled a breath, shaking his head. “I thought I could hear Ophelia close by and I thought if I got to her then I could go to get help, but then I didn’t want to leave you with them.”

She was quiet again, and he could practically see the thoughts rolling around in her mind.

“Why did you come for me after, when we were at that farm, when you’d escaped from the cellar?”

“Ain’t we already talked about this?” He exhaled a laugh. “You really have such a hard time believin’ I can do the right thing sometimes?”

She smiled lightly. “It’s not that, I just… you barely knew me. We meant nothing to each other. You could have gotten yourself away with no trouble at all and not wasted the last of your energy. I would’ve no longer been your responsibility, then.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You either have a hard time believin’ I can do the right thing, or that someone would do somethin’ right for you.”

She scoffed, opening her mouth and closing it. Well… Now… Agreeing to either one of those… was just going to lead to complicated conversations that she certainly didn’t want to have.

He watched her, slightly flustered as she was. He decided to help her out, shrugging a shoulder as he looked out across the water. 

“Either way, I’d do it again.”

She looked at him, a slight fluttering in her chest. Lord, she needed answers.

“You went with me today, too.”

He glanced at her, pausing. “Yeah.”

She licked her lips. “You went with me instead of going to get Jack.”

She couldn’t read his features. “Yeah?”

_God, is anyone sure he and Sadie aren’t related._

She lifted a hand, probably looking as helpless as she felt. “Well, I don’t understand why, Arthur.”

He studied her, silence stretching between them.

“You wanna know why I saved you and why I went with you?”

She nodded a few times, her gaze locked on his. “Yes.”

“Because you’re the most irritatin’ woman I’ve ever met.”

She blinked, her head pulling back slightly. “Excuse me?”

He pushed away from the barrel, beginning to move closer to her.

“You’re irritatin’ and stubborn, difficult to read and understand, sometimes a damn fool and I couldn’t bear the thought of leavin’ you behind. ”

She stared at him, her heart beginning to beat a little faster as he approached, his voice lowering.

“And I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. You make me feel somethin’, Ada. Most of the time it’s annoyance but sometimes it’s somethin’ else.”

She laughed, the sound short and breathy. “You really know how to charm a lady, don’t you?”

He smiled and placed his hand on the wood beside her head, and it made her heart stutter. “You prefer I was like one of your suitors? Bringin’ you flowers and writin’ pretty poetry?”

Her lips twitched at the thought. “I’d like to see you give it a try.”

He tilted his head. “You ain’t one of them girls, though, are you, Miss Adaline? You’re a practical woman, if I remember rightly.“

_Oh, God, his voice…_

“What can you offer me, then, Mr Morgan?” she murmured, her head leaning back against the shed.

“Nothin’.”

She thought she saw his eyes, possibly, briefly, drop down her body.

“Good, because I don’t want anything from a scoundrel like you.”

“Yes, you do,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over one of her curls.

“What could I possibly—”

Dipping his head, he caught her lips in a kiss. Her words vanished with a soft sound as she paused, her eyes automatically falling shut. The sweetness of the kiss caught her more by surprise than the actual act. Maybe because she had wanted him to kiss her.

Just as she went to move her hand to his shoulder, it suddenly ended, and his head was drawing back as she blinked her eyes open.

Gone was the easy, arrogant manner he’d had only seconds before, now he looked entirely apologetic.

“I’m sorry, that—”

She exhaled a sharp breath.

“For Christ’s sake, Arthur…”

Her hand slid around to the back of his neck and she pulled him close again, claiming his lips this time in a firmer kiss. She had to rise up on her toes to actually meet his lips, and her other hand gripped his shoulder to steady herself. He wasn’t moving.

Oh, Lord, had she now made the mistake?

_Why—_

His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight against him, eliciting a faint sound from the back of her throat that had him pressing his fingers into her side. As his lips moved against hers, he lowered his head and pressed her against the wood, their bodies flush. Her lips parted wider with a gasp when his tongue swept across her lower lip.

Nobody had ever kissed her like this before. Her previous kisses had been, well, like the previous kiss, gentle and sweet, but she didn’t want gentle and sweet.

She wanted this.

She could faintly taste whisky on his tongue as it stroked against hers, he had possibly had one drink earlier when she hadn’t seen, and he was right… she could grow used to the taste. His grip around her was firm, and his other hand had moved to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone. And the way he kissed… how did anybody ever learn how to kiss like this? Oh, Christ, she didn’t want to think about that right now.

She just hoped she wasn’t terrible.

_What if I am?_

Why was she so in her head?

_Stop it—_

Another gasp was suddenly pulled from her when she felt his hands on the outsides of her thighs, and he lifted her, her skirt rising to her knees, stepping between her parted legs and holding her against the wooden wall. The kiss had broken with the action, and she couldn’t stop the breathless smile that broke across her lips as she gazed down at him, one arm wrapped around his neck, the other hand on his chest. One corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other as he held her gaze.

There was his fire. Blazing brightly, joyfully.

“I told you that smart mouth was gonna get you in trouble, Miss Ada,” he drawled, his voice rougher, lower, and it sent the most delicious of feelings through her.

“You really are a dumb man if you think it was unintentional,” she answered, in barely above a whisper, not quite knowing where her voice had gone.

“Still won’t shut up, huh?”

“I think you made a valiant effort but—”

She was made to break off, once again, when his lips touched her neck. Her breathing halted for a moment as he began to press slow, open-mouthed kisses to her skin, her mouth remaining open as her eyes closed.

_Oh, sweet Lord…_

Warmth began to pool between her legs and her fingers itched to soothe the slow throbbing that accompanied it.

_What would Arthur’s fingers feel like?_

She moaned. It was quiet, but it was most definitely a moan; that they could have both agreed upon. They probably could have both agreed upon the fact that he growled in return.

His tongue swept over her skin, briefly, but it caused another moan.

_What would his tongue feel like, too?_

He shifted his stance slightly, pressing a little closer against her and… She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh.

_Oh, my God…_

_What would his cock feel like?_

“Finally got you quiet, huh,” he murmured, just under her jaw, and she inhaled sharply.

“Technically not quiet,” she breathed.

“And I don’t mind at _all_.”

Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck as she tilted her head down, prompting him to lift his own.

“Kiss me,” she murmured.

And without another word he did. It was urgent and firm and all she could feel and taste was him. All she wanted was—

“ _Ring-dang do_ …”

He had her back on her feet in seconds. Smoothing her blouse down and hoping she didn’t look as flushed as she felt, she turned and moved away from him, before wrapping an arm around her waist as she pressed the fingers of her other hand against her lips.

And she had to fight very hard to stop a smile.

“… _ringer-danger_ … _Dang_ …”

Arthur cleared his throat from somewhere behind her. Not quite able to tear his gaze from her yet, he tugged his waistcoat down, and hoped his hard cock wasn’t showing too prominently through his trousers. Running his hand through his hair, he leaned back against the barrel once more and exhaled a breath, finally looking away.

Kieran rounded the corner, his feet heavy on the wooden boards, his shoulders slumped. Looking up, he stopped singing,

“Oh, hey… Hey, Arthur…” His drunken gaze drifted over to Ada. “… Oh, Annie, hey…”

Ada turned, her arms folded and a light smile on her lips. “Hello.”

“Sorry, I, I thought this was the other shed, I’ve been, I sleep in there, sometimes.”

Arthur pointed behind Kieran, gripping his gun belt. “That’s back that way, pal.”

“Oh, right, thank you…” He looked between them both, then laughed suddenly, and it was the first time she’d ever seen him smile. “I am really drunk,” he continued, grinning.

Arthur couldn’t stop a slightly bemused smile himself, his eyebrows raising. “That you are. Some sleep will do you right.”

Kieran nodded, still laughing even as he turned to head back the way he came. “Yeah… _Ring, dang_ … _Dang do_ ~…”

Ada watched Kieran stagger off, hoping he wouldn’t fall down the steps and fall straight into the mud. Then, her gaze returned to Arthur. His eyes were already locked back on her. Her near-giddy smile from before returned.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Arthur Morgan.”

“You bossin’ me about now?”

“Yeah, I think you like it.”

He chuckled. “I think I do.”

They looked at each other, the need and want still there, but the moment gone. She could feel the flush on her cheeks and the wetness between her thighs as she bit at her lower lip. He took a breath and cleared his throat.

“It’s getting late.”

“Yes, it is.”

He nodded towards the house.

“I’ll walk you to your stand.”

“How kind.”

“I heard there’s a scoundrel about.”

She laughed, the giddy, almost nervous energy still spreading through her as she moved across the planks to the stairs. She could practically feel his eyes on her back. A lesser or weaker man would have grabbed her again and just carried right on, but… It was almost more arousing that he didn’t. 

_But why wasn’t he? Oh, stop, it’s the sensible thing to do, you idiot._

They walked in silence, Ada playing with her hands and feeling like a teenager, Arthur willing his erection to go away quicker as his hands gripped his belt, hoping that would aid in covering it somewhat should someone pass them. But no one did, all too busy still dancing and drinking and singing or sleeping.

He wanted to kiss her again, to feel her against him once more but he’d already pushed his luck and gotten gold. No, he’d be a damn gentleman and show some restraint.

They slowed as they neared her stand, and she turned to him, a pink flush on her cheeks and a warm twinkle of fire in her eyes, a smile on her lips.

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Goodnight, Miss Sawyer.”

He watched her walk the rest of the way to the stand.

_God damn. Holy shit._

Running his hand down his mouth, he shook his head at himself, heading towards the house. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d think about the consequences. Now, he’d think about what a damn lucky man he was.

* * *

Ada woke slowly, one arm wrapped around her pillow. She guessed it must either be 8 or 9 in the morning, though camp was still quiet, people either sleeping off the alcohol or taking advantage of the general good mood to have a lie-in. Turning onto her back, a smile was instantly tugging at her lips, as if the memory of the night before was just waiting for her to wake up so she could relive it all over again.

She had never felt like that before. She’d been aroused before, sure, when she’d conjured images in her mind of the brave heroes in her books, but never had it been like last night. Last night had been… She couldn’t even begin to describe it. It had been something _good_ , something that had felt _right_ …

_Get some breakfast and coffee in you before you become a giddy girl again._

Pushing her blanket off, she pushed herself up onto her knees and stretched with a gentle groan. To her right at the small camp fire was Charles and Lenny, the former having a cup of coffee, the latter fast asleep. John was stood guard at the front entrance, probably because he was the most sober person to take a watch, surprisingly. Then again, he’d gone straight upstairs with Abigail and Jack once they’d begun to celebrate. She smiled at the thought of their quiet, private reunion as a family. Casting her gaze further along to the main camp fire, she saw the girls were up, probably due to Susan not allowing them a lie-in despite everything. Sadie was there, too, sipping from a cup. Lifting her head, she met Ada’s gaze and waved. Ada waved back, her smile widening.

_She’ll laugh so hard she’ll probably choke when I tell her about it. Can’t wait for the ‘I told you so’._

Rising to her feet, she pulled her boots on and made her way over.

Karen sat with her head in her hands, taking long, slow breaths. Mary-Beth looked a bit bedraggled, sipping her coffee every few seconds and staring at the fire. Tilly had her eyes closed, a bowl of uneaten porridge in her hands. Sadie was the only alive looking one, cleaning the rifle that lay across her lap.

“Good mornin’!” she greeted Ada cheerfully, making the other girls snap out of their dazes and look up, smiling weakly.

“Good morning,” Ada replied, just as cheerily.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Sadie handed her a full cup as she sat, wrapping her hands around it. “Mmh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Catching Sadie’s eye, she just smiled as the older woman gave her a very knowing look.

“Where’s Arthur off to in a hurry?” Tilly croaked, her throat stripped dry by alcohol and singing.

Ada’s head whipped to the side and they all watched as he strode down the porch steps, past the fountain and to Ophelia, mounting quickly and urging her onto the road and down the main path. Ada frowned as Karen groaned.

“I hope it’s nothin’, I don’t wanna deal with anythin’ today.”

“Nah, he just got a letter from Mary,” Mary-Beth said, her voice almost as hoarse as Tilly’s.

Ada paused.

_A relative?_

“How do you know?” Tilly said.

Mary-Beth sniffed, massaging her temple. “Herr Strauss went out early this mornin’ to see if we had any mail. I asked who had mail, I’m expectin’ some nice writin’ paper, and he said Arthur and Pearson did. I recognised Mary’s handwritin’ on the letter.”

“You gotta stop bein’ such a stalker, Mary-Beth.”

“Who’s Mary?” Ada asked as nonchalantly as she could, having had to stop herself from cutting Tilly off.

Mary-Beth dropped her hand into her lap after shooting a look at Tilly. “He and Mary used to be an item years ago, they were engaged at one point. Then it just broke off.”

A coldness prickled down her spine.

“Why?”

“She doesn’t like all of this, wanted him to change, and her daddy didn’t like him. I think he still loves her, though.” Mary-Beth pulled a face. “I think she’s mean for usin’ that, though. Keepin’ pullin’ him back, givin’ him hope whenever she needs help with somethin’.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Karen mumbled, pushing herself up and stumbling towards the nearest tree.

Tilly and Mary-Beth were too busy turning away and tutting at Karen to notice Ada staring at her hands, still. Sadie looked at her, her lips pressed together a little.

“Don’t think anythin’ of it,” she murmured gently so only she could hear.

Ada just nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. It shouldn’t have irked her as much as it did. She didn’t want anything serious from him, that’s what she’d said the night before and that’s what she’d meant, but if she was interfering in something…

Arthur was gone most of the day.

It didn’t bother her.

She told herself that only until the third hour.

Having taken over Javier’s watch, she stood on the outer south edge of the property, slowing pacing up and down the thin dirt path. If she wasn’t thinking about someone’s happiness she could potentially be ruining then she was thinking about the kiss. Should she have allowed it?

_Oh, hell, stop lying to yourself, woman, you wanted it._

He’d known it, he’d plain seen it and _said_ it. And she had enjoyed it.

For a man who was often boorish and bad-tempered, his hands had been… gentle. His lips had felt wonderful. What was this man caging inside of himself? Why hadn’t she seen this side of him before? Why wasn’t he wandering off every other night to the nearest saloon like some of the men did? Was he saving himself for this Mary, hoping she’d change her mind, and she and the kiss last night had just been an error? Maybe he had had more whisky than she thought, maybe he’d had quite a few when she hadn’t been looking.

God, she missed Sean. She would have loved to talk with him, or even be distracted, and he would have wanted to distract. He would have made everything seem so simple and that it wasn’t serious and she was a fool for over-thinking it and Arthur was just a fool, besides she was getting ahead of herself, she didn’t even know why he’d gone to see this Mary, maybe it was nothing at all—

She turned and stopped abruptly. Arthur was approaching, his hands on his belt, smiling. It made her heart stop.

“Hello,” she greeted him lightly.

“Hey,” he answered, a knowing smile on his lips. 

God, why did that make her stomach clench in the most delicious of ways.

“You have a nice time in town?” she said swiftly, needing to distract herself.

Arthur blinked slightly in surprise. Shit, she wasn’t really meant to know he was in town.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said after a moment. “I saw an old friend.”

Now that surprised her. She hadn’t expected him to be so open about it. Most men would keep past loves a secret, especially if they’d just been to see them. Especially if they were talking to a woman they’d kissed the night before.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, but I got a feelin’ you already knew that.”

“Oh?” was all she could think to say.

He nodded, tilting his head. “Yeah.”

She licked her lips then exhaled. “Fine, I do know who you were seeing. Mary-Beth told me and the girls.”

He seemed to consider something. “… Are you jealous?”

She scoffed slightly, looking down at the ground then back to him, a faint smile on her lips. “No, Arthur, I’m not. I just don’t want to be in the middle of something.”

“You ain’t in the middle of anythin’,” he shook his head. “Mary and I, we had our time, and we lost it.”

He didn’t seem too broken about it but… there was definitely an air of sadness. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “Nah, probably for the best.” He rubbed his jaw. “She asked me to run away with her. Then said she knew I wouldn’t. I said I wanted to. That I would, once we got our money but, now…” He let out a humourless laugh and looked away. She had stilled. “Hell, I don’t know what it is about her. When I’m not with her I can see what a terrible idea it would be, that we don’t work. But when I’m with her… it’s like I forget all that.”

Her faint smile returned. “I think that might be love.”

Arthur looked back to her, arching an eyebrow with a faint air of amusement. “Ain’t practical, though, is it.”

Her smile just lingered. “I don’t think love is.”

Arthur just hummed.

Ada licked her lips and continued, “Maybe you like the idea of being with Mary more than actually being with her.”

His eyebrows rose for a moment as he shrugged. “You might be righ’.”

She was quiet for a moment, watching him. “I guess part of you wants to be free from all this, then.”

His gaze flicked to her. “’Free’… You used that same word when talkin’ about Molly. We ain’t bein’ kept here against our will, Ada.”

"I know, but… all this running constantly, don’t you get tired?”

Arthur sighed. “Ada, you don’t know this life, you don’t—”

She frowned. “I know what this life can do to people, Arthur—”

“So do I,” he cut her off, his voice lowering slightly despite how far from the camp they were. “You think I don’t just want to give it all up? Think I just don’t want a quiet life? That’s what everyone wants but it ain’t real—”

"Running away to _Tahiti_ isn’t real, Arthur,” she implored, ”It’s a fantasy cooked up by a man who fancies himself a king and you all blindly follow him—”

"We don’t _blindly_ follow him, Ada, that ain’t true. He’s saved all those people, he’s cared for us all—”

She scoffed. “Oh, so he’s been kind to you so that means you have to do as he says?”

Arthur hissed out a breath, frowning. “No, of course it don’t, it’s about loyalty—”

“Loyalty or following out of an obligation, or fear?” she shot back.

“Ada—”

“Help me understand, Arthur,” she implored again, holding her hand out. “Help me to understand why you all adore him. Because he’s good to you all? Because you all have nothing else? Because you all genuinely love him? Are you all just unwilling to see the man that he really is?”

Arthur’s gaze was cold. “He’s the greatest man I’ve ever met.”

She tutted, almost pulling a face as she shook her head. “He has such a _hold_ on you, it’s—”

“You don’t know anythin’. You don’t know shit.”

“I know a bad man and an ignorant follower.”

He pointed a finger at her, his jaw moving. “You need to watch what you’re sayin’—”

"I told you that I saw him standing there,” she hissed. “I told you I saw him kill my father for no reason, a man who was living that quiet life you don’t believe in, he _killed_ him. He took my family’s happiness, he _ruined_ us. I _told you_ all that and you _still_ defend him.”

Arthur’s gaze softened, though only a fraction. “I ain’t sayin’ Dutch ain’t done some bad things but—”

“Always with an excuse—” she started to mutter.

“What he did was wrong,” he cut her off, his tone having risen slightly. “All righ’, that I know, but he’s done some good, too.”

"Good doesn’t negate from bad,” she spat without thinking.

He arched an eyebrow. “Don’t it? We all deserve a chance to make up for our sins, don’t we?”

She looked at him, her jaw clenched. She couldn’t disagree with that. She didn’t, _couldn’t_ back down though.

“So that’s what he’s doing now, is it? Atoning for his sins by stealing from people still?”

"He _just_ wants a better life for all of us.”

She shook her head. "I wish I could see things the way you do, I really wish I could. I wish you could see it my way, too.”

Arthur took a step closer, his tone quiet again. “Ada, I’m tellin’ you this as a friend… You either got to resolve all this in your head or you might have to start thinkin’ about movin’ on.”

A humourless smile pulled briefly at her lips as her heart quietly shattered. “Submit or flee, is that it?”

He pressed his lips together. “Resolve this, or think about movin’ on. You ain’t got any other choice.”

“Don’t I?”

He stared at her, her features blank, her eyes cold.

His jaw moving slightly, he lowered his voice. “Ada… I would stop you.”

She just looked at him.

“It ain’t worth it,” he murmured.

Her gaze shifted to over his shoulder, as if he wasn’t even there.

“My shift is over,” was all she said as she passed him.

He didn’t turn, but he heard her greet Lenny as he approached to take over. Closing his eyes, his head bowed slightly as he placed his hands on his hips.

_Dear God, what a damn **fuckin’** mess._


	10. Light That Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

She turned their words over and over in her mind. Did she regret the things she had said? Yes… and no. She waited. Waited for someone to tell her Dutch wanted to see her. Waited to find out that they all knew who she was.

He’d given her his word but she’d said more than enough for him to break that, and she wouldn’t have blamed him.

Yet… nothing. It was business as usual. People came in and out of camp, there were chores to be done and animals to hunt.

Two days passed and she didn’t see him once. From what she heard around the camp fire, some of the men were exploring new ‘business’ opportunities in town, seeing what they could dig up to gain money.

Since their own foray into town, she and Sadie hadn’t returned to it. Ada wanted to, though. There was more space here, more land to roam, but she still ended up back at the house, wherever she went. The swamp land to the east was too dangerous to wander through and the west brought its own dangers; the possibility of coming across any of the Braithwaite’s who still lingered on their destroyed land. No one was allowed to wander far, anyway. Dutch’s orders.

She thought of Saint Denis and all the opportunities it could bring her. Passage to a new place, maybe acquiring a position in a store, being a new version of herself. She couldn’t help but reminisce on what had struck her about when Sean had taken her into Rhodes; the reinvention of one’s self.

Or maybe she just liked the idea of it.

But she couldn’t stay with them any longer. It was a complex situation growing more and more twisted every day. And at the centre of it… Arthur. The other night had been… wonderful, yes, but nothing. An outburst. An amalgamation of elation and joy at Jack’s return, the feeling anything was possible, and the attraction that had been simmering for both of them, apparently. That she could and would freely admit. You could be attracted to someone, anyone at all, and also not like them. She didn’t know how attraction worked but it was damn uncontrollable, _they_ very much proved that. And Mary explained so much; the lost love that haunted him. It was almost right out of one of her books. He still evidently held a candle for her, too. They’d spoken about running away together hours after he had shared a kiss with her. Not any kiss, a heated, passionate one, but… It seemed it had really, truly meant nothing. And that was fine. That made things easier for her, actually, clearer. She would go into town soon, tomorrow, maybe, and enquire about positions. Or passage. Either would suit.

Around noon on the third day of living in simmering anxiety that she was to be ousted at any moment, camp activity slowed down, the heat becoming a little too much. Ada returned to her band stand after helping Pearson start to prepare dinner to read the new book she’d bought when she and Sadie had been in town.

She was only halfway down the fourth page when cantering hooves coming down the main path made her head lift.

Arthur pulled Ophelia to a halt, dust covering his boots, trousers and face. She hated that her heart stopped for a moment at finally seeing him. Dismounting, his gaze immediately began searching, darting between people.

Dutch wasn’t in camp but Hosea was around somewhere so—

Arthur’s eyes landed on her, and he strode towards her.

Frowning, her heart now began to beat faster as she pushed herself up, closing her book. Was this finally the moment?

His mouth was set in a thin line and he didn’t look away, neither did she.

“There’s a problem.”

She didn’t allow herself to relax just yet as he carried on past the bandstand, gesturing for her to follow, his features tight.

_What the hell?_

Tossing the book on to her pillow, she moved over the sandbags and down the stairs, following after him. He didn’t slow, heading to the fishing shed, secluding them. Picking up her skirt slightly to avoid tripping over it, she kept her gaze fixed on him, specifically his hands.

She slowed as they moved onto the jetty, the shed obscuring them from the rest of the house. Releasing her skirt, she kept her hands by her sides, her breathing steady.

“What’s the problem?”

Turning to her, he reached inside his jacket, making her stiffen, and pulled out a folded newspaper. Unfolding it, he held it out to her, showing her the front page.

“This is the problem.”

Her brow dipping, taking the newspaper from him, her eyes dropped a moment after to scan the articles.

“What am I—”

She saw the headline first.

> **MAYOR OF STRAWBERRY’S NIECE MISSING**

She started to read immediately.

> _‘Nicholas Timmins’s niece, Adaline Timmins, has been missing for nearly two months now after the gang known as the O’Driscolls attacked the beautiful, peaceful little town of Strawberry in West Elizabeth. Mr Timmins believes the O’Driscolls have kidnapped his beloved niece, though the reason is unknown. The gang has not yet made contact with the Mayor about his niece, who is described as having red, curly hair, blue eyes, a straight, slightly turned up nose, average height for a woman, slightly larger than the average woman, …’_

Ada exhaled a long breath as her gaze drifted across the rest of the paragraph. No photograph. A saving grace, hopefully. There was only one, fairly recent photograph of her, anyway, that had been taken when she was 18, her mother having been sat beside her, smiling proudly. It had hung in their living room. God knew where it was now. If people paid any attention, though, the description alone could be enough to make the connection…

“Oh, Christ…” she murmured, rubbing her forehead with her fingers.

“Yeah, we could have a real fuckin’ problem on our hands…” he muttered, his hands on his hips.

“Where did you get this?” She glanced up at him, gripping the newspaper.

“In Saint Denis. I bought one just wantin’ to see if there was anythin’ about us in there.” Moving closer, he looked over her shoulder at the article, his lips pressed together. “Why does it say Adaline _Timmins_?”

That was the least of their concerns, but…

“We took on my mother’s maiden name when my uncle took us into his care. O’Driscoll wouldn’t exactly look good. For him, especially, and his image.”

“I thought you said he didn’t care about you?”

“He doesn’t.” She blew out a breath, lowering the newspaper. “This is… Why the hell is it in the Saint Denis newspaper? How has it reached all the way down here?”

He took the newspaper from her as she stepped away, folding her arms. “That’s what I was thinkin’.”

“Shit…” She turned to him suddenly. “Has anyone else seen it?”

Tucking the newspaper back into his jacket, he shook his head. “No, no, I went into town alone. Nobody round here bothers to read ‘em most of the time, hardly anyone of ‘em can read, but…”

She pressed her lips together. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

He sighed, his hands returning to his hips. “Dutch is lookin’ for you. He’s gonna ask you to come to this party Angelo Bronte’s invited us to that the Mayor of Saint Denis’ holdin’.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, watching him. “You’re not happy about that.”

“No, I’m not.” His jaw moved. “It ain’t right to get you mixed up in that business… and your uncle’s gonna be there, too.”

Her arms fell to her sides as her heart dropped. “What?!”

“Yeah, Angelo was name droppin’ and he said the mayor of some small town, Strawberry, had half-begged the Mayor to let him come, spoke of some business he wanted to discuss.”

“Oh, Christ…” Grazing her teeth over her lower lip, Ada shook her head slightly. “What am I going to do?”

Arthur’s hands lowered. “I don’t know. It’s your decision, though. You can say no, he ain’t gonna think anythin’ of it, he ain’t got a reason to.” Raising his chin at the sound of voices from the house, he sighed. “Come on, I said I’d find you and start to explain, he’s on his way back.”

Ada followed after him wordlessly, her gaze fixed to his back. Her mind raced as they walked, trying to get some form of an answer straight.

Despite his words, declining _would_ arouse suspicion; she’d already expressed a desire to help out more, and she probably hadn’t been able to hide her restlessness. And who would turn down the chance to go to a party and possibly rob rich people, as they were most likely to do there. Yet if she were to go… she’d see him. How could she spend the whole night avoiding him?

It was an impossible, hopeless situation.

Rounding the house, Arthur raised his hand, gaining Dutch’s attention from where he’d dismounted and been joined by Hosea and Bill. 

A wide smile stretched across Dutch’s features as they walked towards them, his thumbs tucked into his waistcoat pockets.

“Ah, there she is.” They neared each other, coming to a stop near the unused fountain. “Annie, do your secret talents besides sharp shootin’ include acting?”

Ada smiled amiably, her shoulders lifting a little. “I don’t know, Dutch, possibly.”

“Well, how’d you like to come to a little party?”

She felt Arthur’s eyes on her, his words echoing in her mind, but she knew she had no choice. Why the hell did he want her to come to this, though?

“Guess I’m going to need a new gown, aren’t I?”

Dutch laughed as he clapped his hands together. “That’s my girl. Arthur, take the lady out and get her something pretty. See what else you can both find out, too.”

Arthur sighed and straightened. “All right.”

Dutch grinned, stepping around them. “Some enthusiasm, please, we’re going to a ball, Cinderella. Why don’t you get yourself somethin, too?”

Dutch’s chuckle lingered with them as they looked at one another, neither happy about the orders they had been given.

* * *

Faithful stayed close to Ophelia as they rode to Saint Denis, skirting the boundaries of Caliga Hall.

Her leg would brush against Arthur’s, making her back stiffen and his lips press together.

It was on both their minds, their heated words and the somewhat unspoken threat. Neither wanted to return to it, yet how could they strike up a normal conversation, bitterness and unsaid pleas weighing heavy on their tongues?

Still… There was a job to be done.

She was pleased, at least, that they were out of the camp. Their friendship had sparked teasing comments from some members of the camp, so the fact they hadn’t spoken for nigh on three days had started to be noticed. She was dreading the questions, of what excuse she could give, if one was called for.

As he coughed, she suddenly felt a different sort of irritation prickling at her, her gaze flicking to him. Oh, for God’s sake, they’d have to talk sometime. Prolonging the inevitable would just prolong the incredible awkwardness.

“I was thinking we should start down by the train station.”

His gaze flicked over to her. If he was surprised she’d been the one to initiate conversation he didn’t show it.

“People might be coming in to town for the party. If not, station attendants seem to know everything. At least the one in Strawberry seemed to.”

Arthur nodded, directing his gaze ahead. “All righ’.”

She thought he might leave it at those two words when he said no more, then, after a few moments, he cleared his throat.

“The party ain’t until tomorrow, we got plenty of time. We’ll see what we can find out, then buy some clothes.”

They were words, few and to the point, but words nonetheless.

“All right.”

Straightening, Ada clicked her tongue as the bridge came into view, urging Faithful into a gentle trot. Ophelia followed suit, Arthur’s eyes on the red-headed woman.

* * *

The station attendant was very helpful to the distraught young lady who’d lost her purse, particularly when she mentioned she was to attend the Mayor’s ball.

Arthur watched her from his corner of the room, his shoulder leaning against the wall. He hid his smile with his cigarette. She was good at this, both acting and getting information. Her daddy must have taught her.

_Michael O’Driscoll._

He still couldn’t fucking believe it. From what he’d heard about him from Dutch and Hosea, years and years ago, he’d been decent, more savvy than his brother and more interested in getting scores rather than settling them.

As she smiled and placed her hand over the attendant’s in thanks, he pushed away from the wall and headed outside. Raising his eyes to the sky, he found it grey, dark clouds that had been forming in the distance earlier overhead now. Dropping his finished cigarette to the ground, he felt someone at his side.

“Come on.”

Ada moved past him, her hands clasped in front of her. He followed, his hands on his belt. His lips pressed together slightly as he watched her once more. They should’ve got a scarf or something to cover her hair,… then again they’d passed three women with red hair and blue eyes on the way in. People believed what they read, and if people were being told that a missing woman was with a gang, then, well, she was with a gang, not walking the streets of Saint Denis freely. That’s what he hoped they’d believe, anyway.

“What did your new friend tell you?”

“A lot and not much at all.” She led them towards the market, brushing hair from her face as a wind picked up. “It’s heavily guarded, local police and hired men. So I should ‘feel safe’.” She glanced at him as she echoed the attendant’s words, catching his mouth move slightly.

_Was that a smile?_

“He mainly talked about what I could expect, the music and dancing and food. Fireworks, too. I asked him how he knew so much and he said a friend of his works at the house, an Albert Fraser, so I could use that.” 

“That you could.“ He moved behind her as someone passed them, the pathways through the market narrow. “So, you’re wantin’ to do this?”

Her gaze returned to him as he resumed his position at her side. “Well, I’ve already said yes, haven’t I? Not that I had much of a choice.”

“That’s true,” he murmured, meeting her gaze. “Well, I think you’ll be fine. You were good back there, a natural.”

She snorted as they headed out of the market, moving towards their horses. “I used to make-believe all the time when I was younger, it isn’t so dissimilar.”

“Ah, I forgot you were a strange kid.”

Ada laughed as she lay her hand on Faithful’s neck, stroking lightly.

It felt good to make her laugh again.

“I had to entertain myself somehow. You’ve seen how small Strawberry is.”

“I would say I don’t know how you didn’t go crazy, but it seems like you did…” Arthur trailed off slowly as he felt a drop of water on his hand, another swiftly following as he looked up to the sky once more. “Shit, looks like it’s gonna come down hard.”

“Yes, it does.” Pulling a face, Ada lifted her shawl over her head, covering her hair, though it wouldn’t do much good with the decorative holes in it. “Should we wait somewhere until it passes?”

Arthur grunted, lowering his head to shield his face. “Yeah, I know a place. Come on.”

“What about the horses?” she asked as he began to move away, her hand falling from Faithful.

“They’ll find their own shelter.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, the beginnings of a smile forming. “Don’t you remember, from the church?”

Her breath caught slightly.

What she remembered most of all from that time was his arm around her and her body against his.

Following behind him, her shoulders hunched as the rain started to come thick and fast, she lifted her skirts, the hastening cold distracting her from thoughts of desire.

Soaked, she soon found herself stepping into a saloon, her lips parting with a quiet gasp as she was suddenly engulfed in warmth.

‘ _Bastille Saloon_ ’ an engraving on a large mirror above the bar read.

The occupants barely looked up from their cards or drinks, probably accustomed to people bursting in due to the rainfall.

“Come on, there’s a fire upstairs.”

The shawl slipped from her head as Arthur placed his hand on her back, guiding her towards the stairs. She recognised two of the three women they passed from when she and Sadie had gone about finding their own answers. They nodded at her and she smiled.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Arthur led her over to the fireplace, dragging two seats over to it. Sitting, they stretched their hands and legs out to the warmth. 

“This should do us until it passes… which shouldn’t be too long,” Arthur murmured, pulling his hat from his head and dropping it to the ground to let it dry.

Ada settled back in her chair, quite grateful for a potential half an hour or so to just sit and be warmed.

* * *

Three hours later, the rain heavier and sky darker, the occasional lightning bolt illuminating it, Ada pushed her plate away and leaned her forearms on the table.

“Arthur?”

“Mmh?” Looking over his glass to her, Arthur raised his eyebrows slightly.

Her lips twitched. “I don’t think it’s going to pass.”

He grunted and drained the last of his whisky. “Not in the next year it seems.”

Pouring some whisky into her own empty glass, only a little because it still didn’t go down smoothly but it _did_ warm her, Ada glanced around the saloon. It had filled greatly in the time they’d been there, some taking refuge from the rain, others coming for their nightly drink and card game. Sometime in the last few hours, they’d moved from the fireplace upstairs to a table on the ground floor, ordered a bottle of whiskey and some food, and watched those around them.

Returning her gaze to him, she took a small sip. “I think we should stay the night.”

“Here?”

“Unless you want to go out there.”

“I’m not afraid of a little rain, Ada.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Oh, so we’re sat here for me, are we?”

“Can’t imagine you want to be soaked again.”

“I don’t mind the rain either. I just don’t think it’s sensible for us to catch our death. At least we can warm ourselves here, I don’t think we could at the camp.”

"We’ll see in an hour or two,” he murmured before taking a sip.

Pressing her lips together, Ada sat back. She was tired, more than she’d like to admit and… perhaps a night away from the camp would do them both some good.

Pushing her chair back, she closed the short distance to the bar and smiled at the bartender.

He returned her smile; they’d actually bought something while they’d been here. “Good evening, ma’am. Can I get you another drink?”

“No, thank you, not right now. My husband and I would like to rent a room for the night.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Arthur stiffen, his glass pausing before his lips.

The bartender’s smile widened. “Of course, ma’am. That rain stoppin’ you from carryin’ on?”

She tilted her head a little, the picture of amiably put-out. “Yes, unfortunately.”

Her easy smile didn’t falter in the slightest as Arthur suddenly appeared at her side, his hands on the bar. He couldn’t say a word, though, they both knew that they didn’t need to draw the kind of attention that a single man and woman together would, and there was no way they could pass for siblings, or she a working woman. If he asked, those would be her reasons, anyway.

“It’s a dollar a night,” the bartender said, directing his gaze to Arthur.

“Yeah…” Arthur answered with a sigh, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing two coins. After placing them on the bar, the bartender then nodded at him and the coins quickly disappeared into his apron. 

Handing over a key, he inclined his head towards the stairs. “Just up there and through the archway, first door on the right. If you’d like anything else at all, just let me know.”

“Thank you.” 

Smiling, Ada swiftly took the key and turned. Heading towards the stairs, she grabbed the half empty bottle from their table on the way. Ascending once more, she didn’t check to see if Arthur was following.

After finding the room, as she slid the key into the lock, she then sensed him behind her. Opening the door, the sight of the room nearly made her pause.

_Christ…_

Withdrawing the key and entering, her gaze drifted over the room as a tension she hadn’t noticed before left her body.

A room. A proper room with four walls and a door that could lock. She’d once taken that for granted. Looking down at the bed, she placed the key and bottle on the nightstand before brushing her fingers against the covers. A proper bed.

“You could have said if you wanted to stay.”

Arthur’s voice and the sound of the door closing made her turn after a moment, her eyebrows raised slightly. He was leaning back against the door, his arms folded, that indiscernible look upon his features.

“I did,” she countered, moving away from him to inspect the washbasin on a nearby stand.

“You suggested.”

“Somebody had to make the decision.” She ran her fingers around the basin.

“Well, maybe it’s a good thing that you did. I’m tired as hell.” Straightening up, he rounded the bed and moved to the couch on the far wall, his gaze running across it.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, we’ll—”

She scoffed as she turned, lowering her arms. “Don’t be silly, Arthur, it’ll be freezing, we can both have the bed.”

Arthur turned to her, arching an eyebrow. “Nah, I’ll take the couch.”

_Should I be offended?_

“Arthur, for Christ’s sake, it _will_ be freezing and that hardly looks comfortable.”

“I’ve had worse.”

_“Arthur—”_

“Nah, it ain’t… it ain’t appropriate.”

She actually almost laughed. Appropriate? From the man who had kissed her with such a passion that she’d wrapped her legs around him and he’d gladly pressed against her?

Her hands went to her waist. “Since when did you care about what’s appropriate, Arthur Morgan? No one will know. And if it makes you feel better, one of us can sleep on top of the covers with a blanket.”

She could see his next argument brewing as his jaw moved.

“I won’t take no for an answer and I don’t think you quite know just how stubborn I am yet,” she quickly added.

Sighing, he lifted his hands and shook his head. “Fine, fine, I’m too tired for this shit…”

Smiling triumphantly, she turned and, after checking the French doors to the balcony were locked, drew the curtains.

_I’m going to sleep in a proper bed tonight._

She heard the couch make a quiet sound behind her as he sat on it. Returning to the basin, she washed her hands in the cool water.

She used to have a ritual before she’d get into her bed. Wait until Mama and Annie went to their rooms, have a cup of tea and read a chapter of her book, check the locks on the doors, check them again, check the Repeater was by the door, having one in her room would have only alarmed Mama, maybe check the locks again depending on how she felt, then head to her room. Only after washing her face, changing into her nightclothes and looking out of the window to survey the land would she get into bed, sometimes tying her hair back.

Now, though, her routine was to sometimes wash her face, sleep and wake a few hours later to take a watch.

She’d missed having a few minutes to herself in the day to do something that was just purely for her. Perhaps she should have requested a bath.

Instead, she took the small bar of soap beside the basin and washed her face. The towel she dried her skin with was surprisingly soft, and she carefully folded it, returning it to its place.

She had to resist the urge to caress her now smooth cheeks as she turned to the bed, heading for the side farthest from Arthur, facing the door. Locking it, she placed the key on the bedside table, then moved her hands to her belt. Unbuckling it, she let it drop to the floor. The sound of it colliding with the wood caught Arthur’s attention, his gaze rising.

He watched Ada as she stared down at her clothes, her lips pressed together. He smiled faintly. Her clothes were still slightly damp, particularly her skirt, the material thicker than what she was used to wearing, particularly this far down south, but she’d said she’d hope it would stave off the impending cold. Neither of them had taken rain into account. Why did it always seem to rain when they were out? A sign from God? He nearly snorted. Then her hands were pulling her blouse out of her skirt.

_Christ…_

Ada didn’t mind the rain, truly she didn’t, but damp clothes were not exactly delightful to feel. Her skirt had kept the bottom of her blouse damp so she pulled it free, shaking out the material. Moving her hands to the small of her back, she unbuttoned the six small buttons that kept the skirt up, her hands now only holding it up.

_Hold on._

She glanced up at Arthur, and caught him quickly averting his gaze to the floor. How long had he been watching her? Was she _truly_ just about to undress in a room with a man present?

_Oh, come on, you’ve undressed around men for over a month now…_

But this was… intimate. This man she’d kissed and had wanted to undress her. The memory was distant but the feelings very close. Even if those feelings were quickly followed by a coldness.

_For Christ’s sake, pull yourself together, you fool, you’re both adults, and he’s not interested anymore. Do you want to catch a cold?_

He didn’t say a word as she lifted her blouse over her head and dropped her skirt to the floor. Her flimsy corset undid easily. Those she all folded neatly, too, placing them on the chest at the foot of the bed.

Her long shift was only damp at the shoulders but she would certainly have to keep that on.

After blowing a candle out on the nightstand, plunging the room into semi-darkness, and locking the door, she lifted the covers and climbed into the bed. Lying back, she closed her eyes with a gentle sigh.

It was… soft. Perhaps a little too soft.

_How wonderful… my body now prefers hard and uneven surfaces._

Turning onto her side, her back to Arthur, she faced the door, tucking her fist under her chin. It was wonderful to be in a room, however. She could hear the rain coming down outside, unrelenting. It was oddly soothing. Closing her eyes, she hoped for the first peaceful sleep in weeks.

She began to doze, after how long she didn’t know, when she heard the couch sound again and Arthur blow out the only other, dwindling candle in the room. Her eyes opened a little.

She heard him remove his boots and his gunbelt, metal scraping against metal. Then, the bed dipped behind her as he lay on it, a quiet sigh leaving him.

Did he miss a real bed, too?

There was a slight jostling as he reached down to catch the blanket at the end of the bed and most likely draped it over himself before he finally settled down. She was too tired to look over her shoulder and check.

Grazing her teeth over her lower lip, she adjusted her position a little before closing her eyes again.

This should have been bizarre, the forever awake voice in her mind told her. But it wasn’t. It was neither bizarre nor wonderful, it just… was.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” she murmured.

He just grunted quietly, maybe halfway to sleep himself.

* * *

Her arms wrapped around her pillow, she awoke slowly, as if her body knew she had no reason to get up, no watch to take, no hunt to carry out, her environment danger-free. Exhaling a long breath, she blinked her eyes open. A gentle light illuminated the room.

Lifting her head to find the source, a stream of sunlight blinded her for a few moments. It was quite the change from the previous night and most welcome.

Raising her hand to shield her eyes, she saw Arthur out on the balcony, leaning against the railing, a cigarette between his fingers, his back to her. He’d awoken before her, naturally.

Turning onto her back, she stretched her arms and legs out, arching her back a little, a contented moan leaving her. Oh, she could allow herself a few moments to indulge in the space and the warmth of the bed. Reality could spare a minute.

* * *

He’d slept some, he only needed a few hours at a time, and he’d spent the rest of the time lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to Ada’s slow, rhythmic breathing.

Occasionally he could hear people in the street or in the saloon below, quiet, muffled laughter rising. He didn’t think about much, instead just taking the opportunity to listen and rest, the mattress too soft for more than one night but good enough for now that his bones had refused to let him get up.

When morning came, though, he’d needed to stretch and have a cigarette. Thoughts of the evening ahead and what it might hold crept into his mind. Rising silently, he’d slipped his boots on and secured his gunbelt back around his hips, his gaze lingering on her for signs he might have awoken her. She didn’t move a muscle, curled up tightly, deep in her sleep. He stopped himself from foolishly brushing her hair away from her face.

Quietly unlocking and opening one of the French doors, he’d slipped out into the crisp air of the morning, closing the door behind himself. Lighting a cigarette, he moved to the railing, watching the city awaken, people wandering the quiet streets.

Blowing out a stream of smoke, he leaned against the railing, bowing his head. There was a slight chill to the air, the storm from the night before lingering.

It had been warm on the bed.

He hadn’t scolded himself for lying beside her because technically they weren’t, not with the barrier of the covers between them. And it hadn’t felt wrong, either, as much as he’d called it ‘inappropriate’.

Shit, he’d nearly made himself laugh.

When had he cared about appropriate, indeed. Nah, it was more about what thoughts would enter his mind at having her so close again. He wouldn’t kiss her again unless it was wanted but sometimes he got carried away in watching her and imagining, as he had as she’d readied for bed. But… it was dangerous, the thought of doing anything more than imagining and wishing what they could do. Days ago she’d quietly threatened to kill the man he owed his life to and loved more than anyone; he didn’t need to complicate his or her life anymore than they already were.

So he’d decided, that was to be it, imagining and wishing and nothing more… but what would it be like to watch her every night? That was the most dangerous thought of all.

Lifting his head, he focused on the street once more, watching people beginning their day. His own work would come soon enough.

* * *

After finally making herself rise, she’d dressed and gone out onto the balcony, bidding him a good morning. There was still that… disconnect between them, that barrier that hadn’t been there before. Still, she smiled as she suggested they go down to see what could be had for breakfast and he accepted.

Over porridge, they’d agreed to ask around town a little more about the party before purchasing some clothes. The weather held up, warming slowly throughout the day as they went from store to store, asking careful questions and not pressing too hard. They learned nothing new, however, people too afraid or too clueless to offer anything more than praise and excitement that they were to attend the party. He was anxious about her appearance again, but nobody said a thing or even squinted at her.

Crossing the road, Ada glanced up at Arthur as they headed to the tailor’s.

“I take it from Dutch’s comment, you don’t have anything appropriate to wear either.”

“Nothin’ fancy, no,” he half-grumbled, not looking forward to this part of their day at all.

“Mind your manners in here.”

He huffed. “I can be polite.”

“Be my kind of polite.”

“Christ, woman, give me somethin’ attainable…” he muttered, making her lips twitch as she stepped through the door.

“Good afternoon,” she called brightly to the man at the counter, smiling widely.

Looking up, the grey-haired man beamed. “Good afternoon, sir and lady, how may I help you?”

“My husband and I are in need of some clothes for a party we’re attending tonight.”

The man nearly gasped in delight. “Oh, that wouldn’t happen to be the Mayor’s gala?”

“Why, yes, it is.” Ada continued smiling, finding the man rather endearing in his excitement. “We’re sorely in need of the appropriate clothing, I’m just not happy with what we have at home.”

“Of course, my lady. If you will just head on into the next room there, Mrs Malcolm shall attend to you. Sir, if you would follow me?”

Glancing at Ada, Arthur pressed his lips together with a low sigh and followed after the man.

Ada couldn’t resist a small smirk. What she wouldn’t give to know what would go on in that room.

Stepping into the adjoining room, the decor decidedly more feminine, a buxom woman with greying blonde hair appeared from behind a screen.

“Oh, hello, dear,” she smiled broadly, her kind face instantly putting Ada at ease. “What are you looking for?”

“Hello. I’m attending a gala tonight and I just don’t think I have anything appropriate.”

“Oh, the Mayor’s gala?” The woman shared the man’s excitement. “Oh, aren’t you a lucky thing! So, we’re looking to impress?”

“Yes, I would very much like to.”

“Of course! Now let me see…” Mrs Malcolm stood back to inspect her, her eyes trailing up and down her form. “Yes, I think I have some ideas, ooh, this is going to be so exciting!” She took Ada’s hand gently and led her to a small box on which she was to stand. “… but first, a delicate question, dear, and I do hope I don’t offend, the question of money…?”

Ada smiled as she stepped onto the box, shaking her head slightly. “My husband is able to cover whatever the cost may be.”

_That and probably more some._

Mrs Malcolm beamed, finding no reason to dispute the fact. Though she wasn’t dressed in particularly fine wear, she was grateful that her well-spoken accent gave cause for one to believe she was of some standing. 

“Oh, wonderful! The man you came in with?”

Ada nodded as the older woman pulled a measuring tape from her pocket.

“Yes, that’s him.”

“What a fine man. What does he do?”

As Mrs Malcolm began to take her measurements, Ada looked to her reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, we’re ranchers. We breed animals…” She took advantage of her own slight fumbling for words and laughed sheepishly. “To be quite honest, I don’t know much of what he does really, apart from rear and sell animals.”

“I understand,” Mrs Malcolm glanced up at her, grinning. “Let the men take care of business while we get to enjoy ourselves, huh?”

“Yes, precisely.”

“As long as they come back to us at the end of the day, who gives a damn?”

Ada laughed politely, though the woman’s well-meaning, cheerful manner was infectious; she was perfect for her job.

“Indeed. And he does, every time.”

Mrs Malcolm sighed dreamily as she stood to measure her waist and arms. “A loyal, hard-working man, oh, how wonderful.”

“Yes, I’m very lucky,” Ada agreed, her eyes returning to her reflection.

Was that a hint of a blush on her cheeks?

_Ridiculous._

“How did you two meet?”

“At a party, actually.”

“Oh, how lovely!” The tape whipped around her, Mrs Malcolm seemingly mentally keep track of her measurements. “Did your eyes meet across the room?”

“Something like that,” Ada smiled, recalling their first meeting.

_How far we’ve come._

“Oh, do tell me more, and don’t spare the details, I bet it was romantic.”

“Well, I was standing on my own and I looked up and I found him looking at me. He came over and asked me to dance and we ended up talking all night.”

“Oh, lovely. Did he kiss you?”

“Well…” _Oh, why not._ “Yes, he did.”

Mrs Malcolm looked nearly beside herself with joy.

“Yes, it was lovely. Then he got all shy and said he was sorry and that it wasn’t appropriate and I told him not to worry, that I liked it and he kissed me again.”

“Oh…”

“It was beautiful, all the stars were out and it was a warm night and I knew right then that he was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

_All right, ease up a little._

“Oh, goodness, that’s so wonderful!” Mrs Malcolm pushed the tape back into her pocket as she lay a hand over her heart. “That’s just simply perfect!”

Yes, it was a pretty fantasy she wove, one that might have actually been true if her life had been different.

Lowering her arms, Ada smiled politely, hoping to get the woman back on track. “Well, I’m hoping to impress him tonight, too, with what I wear.”

“Oh, yes, of course. And, you know…” Mrs Malcolm smiled, tapping a finger against her chin. “I think I have just the dress in store for you.”

* * *

Arthur drained his glass as he stretched a leg out, his gaze on the piano player though he was only half paying attention.

There was only so much one could prepare for a night like this. This was uncharted territory for them, they weren’t accustomed to fancy parties and fancy people, though that was perhaps why Dutch was so excited.

The starch collar of his new shirt was already starting to rub, though, as were his new dress shoes and that just added to his growing irritation. Not only would he have to achieve whatever Dutch wanted but he’d have to look out for Ada, too. They hadn’t spoken about it but it was a slim chance that she wouldn’t run into her uncle, it couldn’t be that big of a place. Keeping her out of sight without arousing anyone’s suspicion was going to be a task, though he’d find a way she could blend into the crowd.

A low whistle of approval pulled him from his thoughts. Lifting his gaze as someone else whistled, he paused as his eyes found her.

There was no way she would be able to blend into the crowd.

A royal blue, satin dress clung to her, falling in waves from her waist to the floor. It had capped sleeves with pearls dangling from them, and the neckline was cut a little lower than was probably acceptable, but an inch or so of black lace ran across it, though, to preserve some modesty. There was a hint of rouge on her cheeks and lips. Her curls were piled up and pinned back, a few framing her face, her beautiful face…

Ada pressed her lips together slightly at the whistles, an eyebrow arching. Two of the women who worked at the saloon grinned as they leaned over the banister, having helped her dress after she’d bathed and very appreciative of the reaction their work had garnered.

Arthur stood as she approached, pulling his waistcoat down. Her eyes swept over him swiftly, appraising him as much as he had her. He’d wanted to keep it simple, black trousers, shoes, jacket and bowtie with a white shirt and waistcoat, his hair brushed and swept back, beard clipped down to stubble.

She was going to shine like a sapphire beside coal next to him.

"Well, look at you…” he said, his even tone belying just _exactly_ how strongly he wanted to compliment her… with his mouth and with his tongue and with his fingers—

“You don’t look so bad, either,” she answered, taking a seat and sweeping her skirt out as she sat rigidly, placing a purse that matched the dress onto the table and pouring whisky into his empty glass.

He sat as she took a long sip, grimacing slightly as she swallowed. Stretching his legs out, he laced his fingers together on his stomach.

“Lenny’s gonna come and pick us up with Bill, Hosea and Dutch.”

“All right.” She took another sip, her tongue darting out over her plump lips.

Tilting his head slightly, he lowered his voice. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She placed the glass on the table, one corner of her mouth then lifting. “A little nervous. And I can’t really breathe in this.”

“You’ll be all righ’,” he murmured, taking the glass from her and having a sip.

She shook her head slightly. “I still don’t understand why he wants me there…”

“Probably thinks you’re the most refined of all the ladies—”

She snorted quietly.

“— probably hopin’ you’ll get some information out of some drunk fools.”

Raising an eyebrow, she lifted her gaze to him. “How am I to do that?”

He shrugged, moving the glass around in his hand. “I don’t know. Flirt with ‘em, that’s what the other girls do.”

“I’m to be a seducer, am I?” She smiled faintly, amusement lacing her tone.

“No, you ain’t…” He frowned, suddenly very opposed to this idea. “… you ain’t gotta— you just gotta flirt a little, make ‘em think you’re interested in ‘em, that’s all.”

“So no kissing?”

His gaze darted to her and her eyebrows rose innocently.

“No, you don’t—”

“No physical touching of any kind?”

“Why would you—”

“What if a kiss means I get more information?”

“I don’t—”

“It’s important, though, isn’t it?” Her chin was in her palm, leaning a little closer. “That we get information. So what if a nice young man and I are talking alone and he leans over and—”

“You won’t be kissin’ anyone,” he cut in, pointing a finger at her.

“No one at all?” she countered, arching an eyebrow.

“That mouth, Miss Adaline—”

“Arthur, Annie…”

Their locked gazes lingered for a moment or two longer before Ada smiled widely and turned in her seat at the approaching man.

“Hey, Lenny. Don’t you look smart.”

“Hey, woah…” Grinning, he held his hands up slightly. “Annie, you look _beautiful_. You’re gonna break those rich bastards hearts for sure.”

Glancing at Arthur with a faint smirk, Ada stood, grabbing her purse and lifting her skirt a little. “Thank you, Lenny. Does my carriage await?”

“Yes, ma’am. Come on, Arthur, why’re you just sittin’ there?”

“Oh, you have to compliment him, too, otherwise he’ll get grumpy.”

Lenny glanced at Ada, their wide smiles matching, before he looked to Arthur, taking a slight step back and raising his eyebrows.

“Wow, Arthur, I just can’t seem to find the words—”

“Good, don’t. Come on.”

They laughed at his grumbling as they followed him out of the noisy saloon, the evening’s revelries beginning.

The air was cool but not uncomfortably so. Lenny had halted the carriage in the street, thankfully to no one’s inconvenience, and he held the door open for them as Ada stepped up first.

The sight of Hosea, Bill and Dutch greeted her, each of them smiling widely.

“Well, look here…”

“Damn, Annie…”

“You both cleaned up well,” Dutch laughed as Ada settled beside Hosea and Arthur took the seat opposite, next to Dutch.

“Yeah, not too bad, huh?” Arthur answered as Lenny closed the door and pulled himself up into the driving seat.

As the carriage began to move, Hosea offered Ada a glass of champagne, to which she raised an eyebrow, though accepted.

“Champagne?”

"Yes, ma’am. We’re goin’ to a party, ain’t we?” Hosea smiled.

“That we are!” Bill said, taking a swig from another bottle of champagne.

Taking a sip, Ada then took another, finding it surprisingly smooth. This must be the good stuff she’d heard about.

“Don’t you all look fine?” she said, appraising them all with a smile. Alcohol and humour would keep the evening light, surely. If she joined in, there wouldn’t be a reason for any sort of suspicion. “Regular gentlemen, I’d say.”

“Well, thank you kindly, Miss Sawyer,” Dutch answered, inclining his head. “We ain’t a bad bunch, all slicked up like this.”

“Yeah, it’s like we do this thing all the time,” Hosea added, still smiling. “Ain’t we seein’ the King of England for tea next week?”

“Yes, yes we are. Tea and cake with all the trimmings for these regular old gentlemen!” Dutch laughed, and they all joined in, the absurdity of the situation quite plain.

Perhaps they’d had quite some alcohol before they’d arrived, for Bill, Hosea and Dutch found it particularly funny, though so did Arthur. Ada couldn’t stop herself from laughing quietly, too, though, their delight infectious.

“We are ridiculous,” Dutch chuckled as they wiped their eyes.

“Utterly,” Hosea agreed as he coughed and wiped his cheeks.

“I ain’t never been to a ball in my life,” Arthur said, running a hand through his hair before he took a swig of Bill’s champagne.

“Nor have I, if I am being honest,” Dutch answered, pouring himself a drink.

“I used to quite often,” Hosea mused, “there could be fine pickings.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” Dutch chuckled, “No pick-pocketing. We are here to make _real_ contacts.”

“What kind of contacts?” Arthur asked.

“Well, I don’t know, we’ll find what we can. All I know for sure is we are going to a party at the Mayor’s house,“ he began to chuckle again, “and the guest of honour is the worst crook in town.”

They all joined in with his laughter.

“I’m sure that we will find somethin’,” Dutch added over them.

Arthur raised the champagne bottle, grinning. “Okay, then.”

Their laughter continued as they clinked their glasses together and Ada drained her glass, the whisky and champagne easing some of her anxiety… until she realised the carriage had stopped and they were outside of the Mayor’s house.

They left their glasses and bottles on the floor of the carriage, Ada wishing they could have another round. Dutch was first out, then Hosea, then Bill, then Arthur. He helped her down, his gaze meeting hers. She hoped she didn’t look as unsettled as she felt. His fingers gently squeezing hers answered that she did.

_You have to pull yourself together._

Steeling herself, she raised her chin and dropped her hand from his.

Understanding, he straightened and turned, walking beside her after the other men.

The doorman smiled politely as they approached. “Gentlemen, and lady. Luca…” he called for another man.

Dutch placed their invite in his hands, his wide smiling lingering.

Glancing at the invite then between them, the doorman also maintained his smile. “I’m afraid the Mayor does not allow guns at official functions, after last year’s incident.”

Wordlessly, the men pulled their guns from their belts and placed them on the table beside the doorman. No one inspected the lady or her bag. A good thing, too; she didn’t want to part from Sean’s knife, even for a short while. Once done, the man gestured to another behind him.

“Luca here will take you to Mr. Bronte. I believe he is expecting you.”

Luca smiled just as politely as the doorman, though he had a gentle Italian accent. “Follow me, gentlemen, and lady.”

Following after him, Dutch clapped the doorman on the shoulder, as did Hosea, and Bill, for some reason, too much champagne, probably. Arthur just nodded as him and Ada smiled courteously.

“This way please, gentlemen and lady,” Luca addressed them as they made their way up the steps to the front doors of the house, Ada having to lift her skirt to ascend. “ _Signor_ Bronte will be so pleased that you made it.”

“We are honoured to be here,” Dutch answered, sounding every bit delighted to be so.

“That’s wonderful, wonderful. Come, come, this way.”

Perhaps it was just his overly polite manner, but there was something about Luca that didn’t set her at ease.

“What a beautiful evening it shall be. Mr. Bronte is very good friends with the Mayor. Good evening, Pierre,” Luca said to a man as they passed through the doors.

Pierre inclined his head as he held the door open. “ _Signor_ Napoli.”

Luca continued. “As long as the Mayor behaves himself, you know? Mr. Bronte he has, uh, that thing you know? Respect.”

As Luca led them from the beautiful foyer through an archway, Dutch looked over his shoulder to them. “Hosea, Bill, you join the party. We’ll meet you out back after we pay our respects to _Signor_ Bronte.”

_Wait, what?_

Ada’s eyes darted to Dutch.

Why was she going to meet Bronte?

“Come, come,” Luca said jovially as Hosea and Bill turned away from the group and out of the back doors that led out onto some sort of a balcony area and beyond it… groups of people laughed, drank and talked to one another as music floated softly over the proceedings. Her mother had often talked about the balls she had attended, how she would have loved for Ada to be able to attend one herself.

_Well, Mama, here I am._

And, somewhere, within those groups of people enjoying their evenings, was her uncle.

Turning away, she followed behind Dutch and Luca as she heard Hosea murmur to Arthur, “We’ll meet you out on the balcony when you’re done.”

Luca led them up a staircase, walls either side of it, the carpet a rich red. Paintings of men, possibly former mayors, adorned the walls. Ada just stared at Dutch’s top hat. How ridiculous it suddenly seemed, him in his top hat, tails and white gloves, walking these halls, the real gentleman he’d always wanted to be.

Now she understood the joke.

At the top of the stairs, they passed doors and a large fireplace as Luca headed towards French doors. To their right, she could peer over and gaze down into the back foyer their party had split in. She kept her gaze on Dutch, though, as Luca opened the doors and masculine laughter suddenly came from the balcony outside.

Stepping onto it, she noticed the man with the Repeater first. He was dressed, almost comically, in finery, gloves and all, with a white bow tie. He nodded at Luca, and then they were welcomed by the sight of four men also dressed in their finest, standing together with drinks in their hands, chairs around them. One man, balding and shorter than them, turned to them, and smiled widely.

“Ah, the angry cowboys, you’ve arrived! And you’ve washed!” The men laughed, including Dutch, as the man said something to the others in Italian that made them laugh harder.

This was Angelo Bronte, then. He was slightly older than she had expected, and more jovial, which, like Luca, just left her unsettled. What about _any_ of this evening settled her?

“This is quite a party you’ve invited us to,” Dutch said as he shook the man’s hand, beaming. 

“Yes, quite something,” Bronte agreed as he shook Arthur’s hand, Dutch taking a moment to gaze over the railing, down at the party below. “Although I’m not quite sure what.”

Then, his gaze was on her.

“My, my, my, _buonasera_ , _signorina_.”

“Ah, yes,” Dutch turned back to them as she stepped forward and offered her hand to Bronte, smiling warmly. “Angelo, allow me to introduce Miss Annie Sawyer.”

Bronte took her hand and bowed, his gaze locked on hers as he kissed the back of her hand. “Charmed, _signorina_.” Straightening, he kept ahold of her hand and she kept her smile lingering. “And may I say, _Signorina_ Sawyer, you look…” His gaze travelled her. “… _bellisimo_.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Mr. Bronte,” Ada answered, refusing to pull her hand away.

Bronte’s own smile widened for a moment, then he released her as Dutch turned back to the party.

“So, this is Saint Denis society?” he asked the Italian man as he joined him at his side.

Ada clasped her hands in front of herself once more, gripping them as she inclined her head at the three other men, now making her smile coquettish as she listened to Bronte.

“Yes, apparently so.”

“And all these people,” Dutch marvelled as another man appeared, offering him and Arthur a cigar, lighting them for them, “these are friends of yours, _Signor_ Bronte?”

Bronte chuckled. “No, no, no, not quite, but they certainly are afraid of me.” He pointed down into the crowd at a man in a top hat with glasses and a grey beard. “Like that one. See that wretch? He’s the Mayor.” He chuckled again. “Henri Lemieux. He’ll do anything for a dollar, and I mean anything.”

“Politics is a foul business.”

“Yes. Oh, and that one, too, that is Alberto Fussar. He owns a sugar plantation out on the island of Guarma…”

As Bronte pointed out and mocked various people to Dutch and Arthur, Ada found herself sat on one of the couches between two of the men, a glass of champagne that tasted better than Hosea’s in her hand.

“ _Signorina_ ,” the man with glasses to her right began, “you have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen. It is like the sun.”

Ada lowered her gaze demurely as she smiled, and the other man to her left quickly added. “ _Signorina_ , you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen, they are like the ocean.”

They were tipsy, at least, which would make this decidedly easier. Sipping her drink, she looked to the man to her left. “Do you really think so?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” he enthused, leaning a little closer, “Like… like _zaffiro_.”

She didn’t understand what that meant but she smiled anyway, and felt the hand of the other man lightly on her knee.

“ _Signorina_ …” Turning to him, she could smell the brandy on his tongue. “You _are_ the sun, yes, you are like the light of the world.”

_Christ…_

Even though they were drunk and in competition with one another, she could get used to these compliments. As the other man bartered for her attention, though, a slightly uneasy laugh from Dutch caught her attention.

“… we’re not paid killers, as such, not in cold blood anyway.”

Bronte’s head tilted slightly. “I did not know you were so particular that, uh, you wouldn’t help a friend.” His tone was gentle, but it would take an idiot to misunderstand him.

“Oh, I’m willing to help in any way I can, within reason,” Dutch chuckled amiably, trying to diffuse the situation.

Bronte didn’t smile. “I’m going to pretend to understand what that means.”

“I meant no offence, sir.”

“Oh, none taken,” Bronte waved his hand. “None taken!” he suddenly said louder, gaining the attentions of the two men with her who laughed as everyone else did.

Ada glanced at Arthur, perhaps the only one besides her not laughing.

“All these vulgar people,” continued Bronte as he looked down upon them, “they hate me.” Leaning over the railing a little, he then waved down at them, calling something in Italian that made the other men laugh.

She looked to Dutch. For the first time, he looked uncomfortable; he was out of his depth here. She hated that that worried her. If he, if Dutch van der Linde, couldn’t get them out of this then who could.

“Well, uh,” he said as the men continued laughing, “it has been wonderful conversing with you, but I can tell that you are very busy, and I won’t waste anymore of your time.”

Bronte turned to him, smiling broadly now. “Yes, yes, yes, go enjoy yourselves and mingle with these vulgar scum. It’ll make you long for the days when you could shoot each other and screw cows out on the open range.”

The men chuckled, and Dutch paused slightly before he smiled. “Those sure were the days.”

Catching Arthur’s gaze, Ada stood, smiling at the two men as she handed one of them her glass and stepped away from them and their protests. 

“Good day, gentlemen,” Dutch added as they headed back to the doors, Ada joining him at his side.

“Good day to you. But before you go…” They stopped as Bronte continued, “what exactly are your plans here?”

“We’ve not made any,” Dutch answered, before tilting his head. “Well… we are going to need some money.”

Ada caught her frown before it appeared. It wasn’t like Dutch to be so… honest. Then again, she hadn’t known him that long, or exactly been out on an excursion with him like this.

“Money…” Bronte stepped closer, “… yes, of course. Well, there’s, there’s money at the trolley station. They keep a lot of cash there in the day.” He lowered his voice. “Now, I could not involve myself in such matters, but you, as a guest, yes! As my guest, do it.” He laughed. “Okay, good day, gentlemen.”

“Goodbye,” Dutch smiled, turning away as Arthur and Ada followed suit.

“And goodbye to you, _Signorina_ Sawyer.”

Turning at Bronte’s voice, finding his eyes on her, Ada smiled warmly but didn’t say a word, deciding the demure female would be her act for the evening. As they headed through the doors, they heard Bronte say something in Italian, prompting the men, once more, to laugh uproariously.

Luca suddenly appeared again, quickly speaking over the noise. “I’ll show you to the party, gentlemen and lady. If you’ll kindly follow me.”

They went back down the stairs, laughter from the main party now taking over. Watching Dutch again, Ada wondered how he felt in this moment. Though they hadn’t been able to understand him, they all must have known Bronte was mocking them; how did that make him feel? He was so used to being a king amongst his people, at always having the upper hand; what was it like to have none of that?

Luca brought them back to the small foyer at the back of the house, the doors to the balcony open. He smiled widely as he turned to them. “Gentlemen and lady, enjoy your evening and welcome once again to Saint Denis! _Ciao, ciao._ ”

Watching him leave, Dutch and Arthur then began to move towards the doors. 

Ada didn’t move. She couldn’t go out there. The balcony was too exposed, Jesus, why had she come…

“Dutch?”

They turned at her voice, Dutch raising his eyebrows somewhat in surprise and Arthur… Well, he had that indiscernible look again.

“I’m going to see what I can find out in the house,” she murmured, her hand automatically going to where her ring should have been so she could play with it. Instead, she had to clasp her hands together over her purse when she remembered. “I’ll say I’m looking for the powder room if someone asks.”

Dutch nodded, a smile surprising her. “Good idea. Or take a leaf out of Karen’s book and say you’re drunk.”

She smiled, it coming easily. “I could have some fun with that.”

“Yes, you could. But be careful.”

She nodded as he turned away, moving out onto the balcony. Looking to Arthur, she quickly shook her head as he opened his mouth.

“Go out and join them,” she murmured.

Pressing his lips together, he leaned closer. “Be careful, Miss Light of the World.”

Trying and failing to hide a smirk, she watched him as he joined Dutch, Bill and Hosea. It was short lived, though, as she looked beyond them to the crowd. Taking a step back, she then turned and looked to the archway they had first come through. 

Explore the front of the house or go back upstairs? Upstairs, if she was careful enough, seemed less guarded; there were servants moving back and forth across the main foyer, and she’d be noticed exploring one of those rooms or going up the main stairs. No, it would be back up the stairs they’d just come from and across the landing. If the men on the balcony were busy laughing and drinking then it would be just the armed guard to get by unnoticed.

Well, if it called for it, she’d often found if one walked with purpose then people had no reason to suspect you.

Glancing around to make sure she wasn’t being watched, she then quickly moved to the stairs. She kept close to the wall to her left, listening out for any movement at the top. Making it to the landing, she peered around the corner.

The men hadn’t moved from the balcony. Bottles of wine were now being passed around, each man grinning, their attention on Bronte. The armed guard was still there, too, his gaze darting from the party to the landing.

Pressing her lips together, Ada leaned back against the wall. Her gaze landed on a door opposite. Stepping towards it, she tried the handle.

Locked, as she’d expected.

_It’s been a while, but…_

Dropping to her knees, she tucked her purse under her arm and pulled two hair pins from her hair, releasing a curl. Inserting them into the lock, she glanced to her left before carefully aligning the pins as she wanted them. After a few moments, the lock clicked. A smile pulled at her lips as she pushed the pins haphazardly into her hair and opened the door. A quick survey found no one inside and she crawled in, quietly closing the door behind herself.

Once on her feet, she smoothed her dress down as her gaze travelled the room. It seemed like some sort of office, shelves ceiling high full to the brim with books. A beautiful desk was to her left, a chair pulled out from it, with a couple of documents lying on them. Leaving them be, she headed instead for the door in the far corner. She could look over the papers later, she didn’t really want to return to Dutch empty handed, for a twisted sense of honour’s sake, but she could hide out in one of these rooms for maybe an hour or so. The door opened easily and she stepped through, not closing it entirely so she could hear if anyone else came into the office.

The second room was… Well, not a room at all, just a small space with another door. Probably a way for the Mayor to escape if needed as… Yes, passing through the door led her into a bedroom. It was dark, but cool, a window on the far side open perhaps an inch. The bed was large and made neatly, huge plush pillows reaching down to nearly the centre of it.

_Why not._

She lay back on it, blowing out a breath. She was going to be here some time, why not be comfortable doing so? Her gaze wandered the room. It was smaller than she would have thought for a mayor but nice, warm. The walls were a deep red with paintings of countrysides here and there. There was a door opposite the bed that she could probably unlock quickly if needed. She could hear the party from the small gap in the window, voices from a small group below it also filling the room.

“… I just couldn’t believe it, how awful.”

“Completely. I couldn’t imagine going through something like that.”

“Yes, it was awful…”

Her heart stopped as her gaze snapped to the window.

“… truly awful, I can’t even begin to tell you…”

She was off the bed before she knew it and kneeling under the window, her eyes wide.

“… my only sister and niece taken from me by senseless violence,” Nicholas Timmins said, his tone full of sorrow, holding the attention of the small group. “But how many of our loved ones have? We haven’t found a body yet so we’re praying, the whole town and I, that she’s still out there, somewhere. Maybe the O’Driscolls took her. I think death might be a better fate than being with those barbarians, though…”

As the group murmured their sympathies, Ada raised herself up, peering over the edge. She could only see two members of her uncle’s audience, a man and a woman, the rest hidden by the roof of the veranda.

“… It is one of the reasons I’m so eager to talk with your esteemed Mayor. Officers walk your streets day and night, keeping you safe, and I believe my beautiful town would benefit from such actions, if I were to get funding of some kind…”

A sound came from the office.

Lifting her head, her breath caught.

“… locked it, I’m sure…”

Two people, possibly.

No longer thinking of her uncle, she grabbed her purse from the bed and scrambled across the floor to the door, pulling pins from her hair. She tried to keep her breathing steady as she pushed the pins into the lock, hearing people moving about in the office.

_Shit, shit, shit…_

_‘I was looking for the powder room’_ wouldn’t quite explain how and why she’d somehow unlocked the door to the Mayor of Saint Denis’s office and was now lounging in his bedroom, and neither would playing a drunken harlot.

The lock wasn’t moving. Gritting her teeth, she heard the door to the small room open.

_Oh, for Christ’s sake…_

The lock clicked. Pushing the door open, she grabbed the pins and rolled through the door just as she heard the other door open. Closing it behind herself, inhaling a sharp breath and knowing time was of the essence, Ada pushed herself up, gripping her purse and the pins tightly, and began to walk down the landing.

_Shit, the guard… If there was ever a time to walk with purpose…_

Ada kept her gaze ahead, striding towards the stairs. So close—

The door to the bedroom opened behind her.

_Oh, Christ._

“Excuse me? Miss? Exc—”

“ _Signorina_ Sawyer.”

Halting abruptly, Ada turned at the two voices, her gaze darting from Bronte on the balcony to the man standing outside of the bedroom and back again.

_Oh, shit._

Bronte smiled warmly and beckoned with fingers that held a cigar. “Come, I would like a word with you, _signorina_.”

She glanced to the stranger across the landing. He didn’t say a word, his mouth in a thin line. Then, he turned and disappeared back inside the bedroom, closing the door firmly.

With no possible way of refusing, Ada returned her gaze to Bronte. She matched his smile and clasped her hands together, moving out onto the balcony, holding his unyielding gaze.

_Jesus Christ, what am I getting into now._


	11. Everything Inbetween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

“Wine, _signorina_?”

A full glass appeared in front of her before the server had even finished his sentence.

She widened her smile a little as she accepted it, not taking a sip. The server retreated to the periphery of their vision, a lingering, silent presence.

Her gaze returned to Bronte. His men had left him, leaving only him, the armed guard and the server. She wouldn’t have minded the company of the two drunk men now. Bronte gestured to a chair a step away and she moved to sit in it as he seated himself in a chair opposite.

“Forgive me for prying, _signorina_ ,” he said as she arranged her skirt with her free hand to give it something to do, her purse in her lap, “but why are you up here and not enjoying yourself with the party?”

“I was looking for the powder room,” she answered, conjuring up a soft, endearingly embarrassed laugh. “I seem to have gotten lost, though.”

“Indeed.” He smiled at her laugh.

There was a pause that his silence forced her to fill.

“I’ve never been in a house as grand as this before, it’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is.” He blew out a stream of smoke.

A game was being played here.

Her back straight, her features pleasant, her heart pounding, Ada smiled. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about, _Signor_ Bronte?”

Bronte rested his arms on the armrests of the chair, his head tilting slightly. “When my boys told me two pretty women, a blonde and a redhead, were asking questions about me, I was intrigued.”

She didn’t move, her smile frozen.

He tapped his cigar, ash falling to the ground. “When my boys described this red-haired woman, well, I couldn’t help but find the description familiar.”

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the glass.

“Now, why did I find it so familiar..?” Bronte mused, as if he had just spoken with the boys who served him. He took a drag on his cigar, as if waiting for her to answer the question.

She stared at him.

He blew out a heavy stream of smoke, an easy smile on his lips. “Your uncle likes his tea, doesn’t he, _signorina_?”

Her chest tightened as she swallowed hard.

“He likes the way my servants make it, especially,” he continued, finally looking away to gaze out at the night sky. “When he told me of his woe and sorrow, I couldn’t not promise to help him reunite with his niece—”

“That’s not going to happen.”

His gaze cut back to her at her sharp words, the smile lingering.

“No?”

What was the use in playing a game when the opponent held all the cards?

“My uncle doesn’t care for me, _Signor_ Bronte.”

Bronte tutted quietly. “ _Signorina_ , he cares very much that you are returned and his town is safe.”

A corner of her mouth lifted humourlessly. “Not out of love.”

He laughed. “Love... You know, this word, _signorina_ , nobody does anything for love anymore. We’re all animals, fighting our way to the top.” He tilted his head again, looking almost sympathetic. “I cannot force you, _Signorina_ Timmins—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, do excuse me, _Signorina_ O’Driscoll—”

“ _Don’t_ —”

“It doesn’t matter what name you go by, _signorina_.” All humour had vanished from him now as he leaned closer, his tone low. “What a risk you take being here tonight. You still look the same, still sound the same, I imagine. What a beauty you truly do look, too, better than most of them down there.” He sat back again, shaking his head in gentle awe. “ _Magnifico_. Is that why you have been sneaking around up here, _signorina_? Avoiding the attention you could so easily gather?”

He smiled as she remained silent.

“I’m so glad you could make it, _Signorina_ Adaline. It wasn’t hard for my boys to follow you and the other woman back to your camp. Then, a simple suggestion to Dutch that I should like to see you, a fresh, pretty—”

“Have you told Dutch?” Dutch hadn’t given any inclination if Bronte had, but he could have been playing his own game.

Bronte waved his hand. “No, no... Not yet.”

She pressed her lips together.

_Here it comes._

_“W_ hat do you want?”

He chuckled. “You are so very bold to be here. What if your uncle were to strike up a conversation with Dutch, what if they are talking together right now as we speak, and they get on a little too well?”

She was too angry to be entirely afraid of what was to come.

"What do you want, Bronte?”

He just looked at her for a moment, smiling, then he reached inside his jacket. She stiffened. All he withdrew, though, was an envelope about the size of the book she’d been reading the morning before. He held it out to her.

“Say you found these while sneaking about.”

She glanced at the envelope. “What are they?”

“You can look inside if you like.”

It was her turn to now just look at him. Then, she reached out, placed her glass down and took the envelope. As he sat back and watched, Ada turned the envelope over and found the seal of the Mayor’s office keeping it closed. 

She paused.

She broke the seal. 

Placing the envelope in her lap, she withdrew two, folded pieces of paper. Opening them out, her gaze flicked up to his, her brow dipping.

“These are sketches of the bank.”

“How observant.”

Her eyes dropped to the papers. Detailed sketches of the interior and exterior of the bank lay before her, a few annotations here and there of improvements to be made. She recognised the handwriting from the documents on the Mayor’s desk.

She looked back up to Bronte. “Why don’t you give these to Dutch yourself?”

“Because I have asked you to. And you cannot return empty-handed, can you? That would be far too suspicious.”

Lowering the papers to her lap, she shook her head slightly, a frown lingering on her features. “Surely you must want something more?”

He held his hands open slightly. “I want you to support Dutch. He needs it. I see a very prosperous relationship regarding Mr. van der Linde. I wouldn’t want anything ruining it.” He gestured towards the papers. “Support him. I know that will be hard for you given your...” His mouth moved slightly, a hint of a smile. “... history, but it is better than the alternative, no?”

“I am not loyal to Colm O’Driscoll.”

He just shrugged, his smile lingering.

Ada looked back down at the papers. She had no choice.

Clearing her throat, she folded the papers and slid them back into the envelope before meeting his gaze. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“ _Magnifico_!” Bronte beamed, holding his hands open again. “Really, we can all benefit from this, _signorina_.” Looking over her shoulder, he nodded at someone she didn’t want to turn to see before looking back to her. “Thank you for your time, _Signorina_ Sawyer, I promise you won’t regret this.”

Smiling tightly, she took her purse and rose as he did, and glanced down at his outstretched hand. Accepting it, her grip was firm as they shook hands.

“Now,” he continued brightly as he released her hand, “you may continue to sneak around up here or even stay here and delight me with your company, or Luca will escort you downstairs and make sure you are not seen.”

“I’ll see myself down, thank you.”

“Of course.” She despised his smile. “Thank you again, _Signorina_ Sawyer. I do hope to see you again soon.”

“Good evening, _Signor_ Bronte.”

Inclining her head, Ada turned and her gaze landed on Luca who Bronte must have nodded at. He smiled as he stepped out of her way.

“Good evening, _signorina_.”

She returned his smile, lightly.

“Oh, _signorina_...”

She paused. 

_Please just let me go._

Turning back to Bronte, she found his smile still in place as he pulled something out of his trouser pocket.

“Your uncle asked me to give you this...”

Her heart stopped.

_The bastard, he_ **_had_ ** _spoken to Nicholas, he had—_

_He_ r gaze dropped. A thick, silver ring lay in the centre of his palm.

Her breath caught.

“Take it. He wants you to have it back.” Bronte held his hand further out to her, his smile widening. “A gesture of goodwill.”

“Goodwill...” she breathed out incredulously as her eyes flicked back up to his, swiftly cutting herself off, swiftly stopping herself from giving him anymore satisfaction with her reaction.

Her teeth gritted, she swallowed hard and stepped closer. Reaching out, she took the ring, her hand quickly pulling back.

“He’s a very funny man,” Bronte said brightly as she slid her father’s ring back onto her right, middle finger.

“Yes, he is.” She thought she might have whispered the automatic response, staring at her hand.

Looking up to him again, she smiled tightly.

“Good evening, _signor_.”

Her walk through the doors and onto the landing was measured, every part of her wanting to run. She felt sick, her entire body cold. Once at the stairs and out of sight, she exhaled a breath and immediately inhaled a deep one, trying to soothe her pounding heart.

_That had... How_ **_dare_ ** _he..._

_Sh_ e felt furious and helpless.

Ada descended the stairs slowly, one hand running along the wall, the other holding the envelope and her purse.

_Just make it down the stairs. Go out the front door. Sit on the steps if you have to. Lenny might have stopped the carriage around the corner—_

_“G_ ood evening, miss.”

Ada smiled swiftly at the servant who passed, continuing on. Entering the small foyer, she passed someone.

“Hey, where are you goin’?”

She didn’t stop.

_Get outside. Breathe._

_Th_ e front doors were in sight, one open. She quickened. Then, she was outside, the cool air engulfing her. Moving down the stairs, she tilted her head up to the night sky, taking in deep breaths.

_Son of a_ **_bitch_ ** _... Jesus Christ..._

_He_ had spoken with both of her uncles. Nicholas was here, Colm _had_ been here, God, did that mean he was close now? Why had Bronte met with Colm?

She could feel beads of sweat running down her back, her hands and breath shaking.

_Pull yourself together._

_Sh_ e couldn’t return to the men in this state.

_Well, at least I have something..._

_Sh_ e gripped the envelope a little tighter, staring down at it.

_But why? Why, why, why, why, why..._

_He_ r mind was humming.

_Stop. Stop, stop, stop. Slow down. Breathe._

_Sh_ e inhaled another long, slow breath before she stuffed the envelope into her purse.

She should have stayed and questioned Bronte. She should have asked him outright why the _hell_ he’d been meeting with Colm. _That’s_ what he’d meant about history. Not just alluding to her connection to him. Colm had told him everything, he knew _everything_ about her, including what Dutch had done to her father. She should—

“A lovely night, isn’t it?”

_Oh, Christ._

She froze, her already staggered breaths halting.

Her uncle Nicholas was only a short distance behind her, talking to a new group.

He didn’t want to find her, she knew that. Her staying missing would help push his agenda. But if he saw her now... What a show he could put on. She stayed still, staring ahead, trying to even her breathing once more.

The name ‘ _Albert Fraser_ ’ wandered into her mind, bizarrely. Yes, you could turn around, keeping your face turned away and walk back into the house and try and find him... Who was he again, how was he important? No. She couldn’t go back to the house, what if someone recognised her from the description in the newspaper? She’d been damn lucky so far, but the people here, they had to read the newspapers, they had to know what was going on. Why the _hell_ had she come.

She couldn’t think properly. She didn’t know if she wanted to be sick or faint. This was too much, it was all too much, it—

_You’re getting worked up again, breathe, just breathe..._

It had been such a long time since she’d been panicked to this extent. She been given plenty of cause to be panicked but anger had overshadowed it or the need to move on to the next thing but now... she just felt helpless. She had no control over anything. That terrified her more than anything.

Her uncle’s voice drifted across the lawn. “... it has been so terribly awful without her, and my sister, too. They were the joys of my life.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. She wasn’t the joy of his life. She wasn’t the joy of anyone’s life. She’d been the joy of her father’s life, he’d told her so, and he was dead, and then she’d been the joy of her brother’s life but he was dead, too, and now after that no one, she’d had to look after others before herself and she was so sick and tired of all of it, she just wanted some peace and to be cared for, she wasn’t too proud to admit it, she wanted someone to look after her, not all the time, just now, just for now, just for now when everything was dark and hopeless and...

_Breathe, please just breathe..._

_Albert Fraser. Do something useful. Turn around and go in._

She didn’t move. She stared at the street, at the horses, carriages, people going by. It occurred to her, then.

_I could join them. I could just wander onto the street, find a place to stay for the night, make a plan tomorrow, get away, get away from everyone, no one needs me, they could all live without me, they’ll all just be a memory, a story to tell in a few years time, I could—_

_“M_ iss Sawyer!”

Jolting, she turned sharply out of reflex, forgetting her uncle for a moment. She smiled automatically as Dutch emerged from the open door, beaming, Arthur, Hosea and Bill behind him.

_Shit..._

_“S_ hall we leave?”

“Yes, let’s,” she answered brightly, feeling the same, oddly charged energy that had possessed her for the last few minutes running through her body as she beamed back.

The men descended the stairs, Dutch smiling, Hosea pleased, Bill irritable and Arthur... looking at her.

“Hey, you okay?” he murmured as the others continued on, he and Ada falling behind. “You walked right past me earlier.”

Shit... she’d passed Arthur, because of _course_ she had.

“I was following someone,” she answered, her tone matching his, though a faintly manic smile lingered.

“Who?”

“A servant, that Albert guy. It didn’t lead to anything,” she waved her hand dismissively as they were handed their weapons back, the doorman smiling courteously at each of them in turn.

“Right, so you— _”_

_“H_ ere comes Lenny,” Dutch announced, making them all look ahead.

There he was indeed, pulling the carriage up to the front of the house. Nodding at the doorman, Dutch clapped him on the back before heading to the carriage. Ada kept her breathing steady as they let her step up first, the nervous fluttering inside her lingering.

She sat by the window on the far side, staring out of it as they climbed in.

_Please calm down, please just breathe._

The corset didn’t help, restricting every deep breath she tried to take. The door closed and Lenny urged the horses into a walk, turning the carriage around. She stared out of the window still, looking up at the grand house as it came into view. She shouldn’t have come. _Why_ had she, she could’ve just said no—

Her gaze dropped and met that of Nicholas Timmins. 

Her blood went cold. He stared at her, just as frozen as she was, not listening to the elderly woman speaking to him. Then, he was gone, the carriage rolling on and the next house filling her view. She looked ahead, staring at Bill’s waistcoat as he started to grumble.

“I ain’t never felt so awkward in all my life,” he muttered, loosening his bowtie, “All them folk, all so pleased with themselves. High society’s pigeon shit. If you ask me, it’s more like torture.”

She waited for the shouts, for the calls to stop the carriage.

Tutting, Arthur reached inside his jacket and removed a document, handing it to Dutch. “Here’s them papers I took,” he said, leaning back into his seat.

“Anybody see you take this?” Dutch opened the document, glancing over it.

No shouts came.

“Don’t think so.”

“Did anyone else find anything?” she heard herself ask suddenly, looking up and between them.

Bill made an indiscernible sound, looking out of the window.

Hosea, however, nodded, speaking to her, so she assumed they’d all already conferred. “I found somethin’ about a bank that could help us.”

“A bank?” Her eyebrows rose. Fumbling with the opening of her purse, she pulled the envelope out, pausing for a second before holding it out to Dutch. “I found something about a bank, too.”

They all looked at her.

“Really?” Dutch said as he accepted the envelope, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before he turned it over and opened it.

“Yeah, I got into the Mayor’s bedroom and found it on the dresser,” she answered, clasping her hands together over her purse.

“Bedroom?” Arthur prompted, an eyebrow arched.

She shrugged her shoulders quickly, shaking her head slightly. “People hide all their personal belongings in the bedroom. And the door was locked.”

“What—”

“Annie...” Her gaze darted to Dutch as he looked up at her, almost in awe.”... this is brilliant. This is _exactly_ what we need.”

For some reason, a reason she would never be able to discern, the manic anxiety suddenly slipped away as they all inched closer and tried to get a look at the bank plans as Dutch lowered them. Her own smile softening, she glanced up and caught Arthur’s gaze. He returned her smile, one corner of his mouth higher than the other.

“Lady and gentlemen,” Dutch chuckled, folding the map away. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

Bill grumbled his agreement as Arthur sighed.

“You can drop us at the edge of town. We gotta get our things from the hotel, and our horses.”

“They keepin’ ‘em for you?” Hosea asked.

“Nah, we had to buy the place for another night, robbin’ bastards. Our things are in our room.”

“Why don’t you stay there?”

All four of them looked at Dutch, Ada’s lips parting.

_Excuse me...?_

_Du_ tch raised a hand slightly before reaching inside his jacket to retrieve a cigar. “Would be a shame to waste the money.”

Arthur shook his head. “That don’t matter—”

“No, you kids deserve a nice comfortable bed after your work tonight,” Dutch said jovially, a smile pulling at his lips as he placed the cigar between them.

“Sure,” Ada answered in the same moment Arthur said, “Righ’.”

Settling back in their seats as Dutch leaned his head out of the window to call out the plan to Lenny, Ada kept her gaze firmly out of the window.

_Right..._

_An_ other evening out of camp, wonderful... Another evening alone with Arthur in a confined space where he was probably going to ask more questions...

_Right..._

* * *

The men bade them a very warm farewell as they stepped out of the carriage, pleased with what the night had offered, and grateful Bill had found a half-full bottle of champagne on the floor.

Pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers, Arthur exhaled a breath as he watched the carriage roll away into the night. He felt Ada also release a breath beside him. Something had happened tonight. The look on her face as she’d descended the stairs had made his heart stop; it was the same expression he’d seen the first time he’d taken her into camp and had broken down. He’d wanted to follow after her, but time had been crucial at that damn party and he’d needed to find _something_. 

He hadn’t known what to do back then, when he’d first met her, but now...

Turning to her, he pulled a hand out of his pocket, lifting it to gently place it on her back. “Ada, I—”

“Why don’t we get a drink?” She flashed him a smile before she’d turned and was gone, disappearing into the loud saloon.

His hand dropped from where it had almost reached her, his teeth gritting.

God damn it, he could have yelled right there and then.

He was tired of enigmas and questions, they were beyond that now, or at least he’d thought they were. Perhaps tonight would be the time to put all the uncertainty to rest, about everything. But... yes, a drink would do.

The saloon was rowdier than the night before, people laughing and talking loudly, drinks overflowing and spilling, and women sat on various men’s laps, an exciting poker game in full-swing.

He followed Ada to the bar, watching her as she leaned over, nearly shouting to be heard by the bartender. She ordered a bottle of whisky and two glasses, glancing up at him expectantly as the bartender placed them on the counter. Tutting quietly, he fished a few coins out of his pocket, dropping them into the other man’s hand.

Taking the bottle and glasses, she turned and surveyed the room. Finding no empty seats, she turned her head to him and said above the noise, “Let’s go upstairs.”

She was heading to the stairs before he could agree.

They had to push their way through the crowd of people, declaring ‘ _excuse me_ ’ here and there. It was notably emptier on the top floor, a few women and men huddled in corners and on the couches together, though no less quieter as the noise below carried up. Passing them, Ada adjusted the bottle and glasses in her hands so she could retrieve their room key from her purse. Opening the door, she entered, placing the items in her arms down onto the bedside table.

Arthur entered a few moments behind her, glancing at her, then he removed the key from the door and closed it, locking it. He placed the key beside the glasses as she moved to the French doors, pulling the curtains across them and ignoring the waves of a few of the drunken patrons on the balcony. He watched her as she returned to the bedside table, stepping out of her way slightly, and removed the top from the bottle, pouring a good two or three inches into each glass, her purse propped beside them. Holding one out to him, he accepted it from her with a wordless nod, and she lifted her own, turning from him to move to the washbasin.

Sipping the whisky, he watched her as she took a long drink, and saw her grimace, even from this view, before placing the drink down and lifting her hands to her hair, starting to pull pins out.

She seemed... jittery.

Lowering his glass, his tongue gliding over his lips, he moved around the bed to ‘his’ side, setting the glass down on ‘his’ bedside table. Shrugging his jacket off, tossing it onto the couch beside him, he continued to watch her as he unbuttoned his waistcoat. She kept her gaze on the thick curtains, removing pin after pin and dropping them beside the basin. A curl would be released with each one she took, falling about her face and shoulders, dropping down to her waist. The waistcoat joined the jacket as did his bow tie. Sliding his braces off of his shoulders, he then rolled his sleeves up before removing his gun belt and depositing it on the couch.

He finished as she did, her hands shaking her hair out and settling it. She took another sip of whisky and he sat on the couch, leaning back and kicking his shoes off.

Then, she turned to him.

“Well, tonight was interesting.”

“Yes, it was,” he remarked, leaning over to get his glass before settling back again, balancing it on his thigh.

He thought he saw her eyes narrow just a fraction when he didn’t say anymore, but she looked away a moment after, gazing down as she lifted her skirts to toe her blue shoes off.

She continued looking at the floor, her teeth grazing over her lip.

“I think I can beat you on who had the more interesting night.”

She looked at him as she took her glass and sat on the chest at the end of the bed, one leg tucked under herself, her lips twitching wryly.

“I know what you’re doing, being coy and not talking, though maybe you know I know that and that’s the point.”

“We’re spendin’ too much time together,” he answered, his features softening a little.

She exhaled a laugh, though the smile quickly faded. She looked at the glass in her hands, and he knew she was choosing her words.

Jesus Christ, was she actually going to tell him what had rattled her without being prompted?

After a few moments, her eyes met his.

“I spoke with Bronte tonight. Alone.”

He held her gaze, not allowing a reaction just yet. “Okay.”

She shifted slightly. “I was on the upper floor, planning on finding somewhere to hide, and I’d managed to get into the Mayor’s bedroom from his office. I picked the locks.”

_Of course she had._

_“S_ omeone came into the office, though, and was about to come into the bedroom so I got out of there through the bedroom door and was nearly to the stairs when a man stopped me, then Bronte called out to me, from the balcony.” Her thumb brushed against the glass. “He gave me a glass of wine, invited me to sit with him and then I very quickly realised I was there for a reason.”

Arthur stilled.

She licked her lips before continuing, “Bronte said he’d spoken with my uncle, Nicholas, and had promised to help him find me in any way he could.”

His brow dipped but she carried on, wanting the whole story out.

“He said after hearing my description from my uncle and hearing about me from his boys, from when Sadie and I had been asking questions about him, he’d asked Dutch to bring me along, probably when you, him and John had gone to get Jack. I asked him why he wanted me there and he didn’t really give a reason, but he did want me to... to give those papers with the drawings of the bank to Dutch.”

Arthur’s frown deepened. “What?”

She shrugged slightly. “Those and that I should support Dutch. He said he could see a prosperous future with Dutch and that my support would mean a lot.” She licked her lips again. “He also said... that he knew it would be hard for me to do that.”

“Why?”

Ada took a breath. “He’s met with Colm, Arthur.”

Arthur’s mouth opened as he sat up. “What the _hell_?”

“I know, I... He didn’t say why, he sprung that on me just as I was leaving. He gave me this, too, from Colm. My Daddy’s ring.” She held her right hand up, showing him the ring.

His gaze flicked to her finger before he shook his head as she dropped her hand. “Why the _hell_ is Bronte meetin’ with Colm _and_ with us?”

“I don’t know... He could be wanting to extend his reach? Want more people and therefore more power on his side? Maybe he’s considering options?” She shrugged, exhaling a long breath. “I don’t know, Arthur, he’s a man I can’t understand.”

“Why didn’t you say you’d spoken with Bronte in the carriage and that he’d given you the papers?”

“Even if I’d said that and lied through my teeth about what we’d spoken about, Dutch would still have wanted to know why Bronte wanted me alone, might even ask him when they meet again. It could have led to too many questions and suspicions.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he murmured before taking a long sip of whisky.

She drained her own glass and swallowed hard with a grimace. Wiping her mouth with her fingers, she raised her eyebrows, her lips twitching.

“I did hear my uncle talking while I was lurking in the bedroom, my Mayor uncle that is. He was doing a very convincing job of being beside himself about my disappearance whilst also pushing his political agenda. He saw me, too.”

He stared at her, but she laughed then, with an air of bewilderment.

“ _What_?”

“He saw me, when we were leaving. I just looked out of the carriage and there he was, looking at me as I was looking at him.” She was smiling and she didn’t know why. “He didn’t even say anything. Didn’t even call out. He doesn’t want me back, I know it, he doesn’t.”

She then laughed again and lay back on the bed, the chest level with it, resting the glass on her stomach as her other hand rubbed at her brow and closed eyes.

“Oh, Lord... Do you ever curse yourself for the times you thought life was difficult when it absolutely wasn’t and you took it all for granted?”

Arthur shifted in his seat. He didn’t know what the fuck to say to any of that. “I don’t know. My life ain’t ever been easy though.”

“Yeah, but I bet you’ve had fun,” she sighed. “I bet you’ve had times where it’s felt like it was worth it.”

He gazed at her. She wasn’t in the right state to talk about her uncles now.

“You sayin’ carryin’ me all the way back to camp wasn’t fun?”

She laughed, her hand sliding from her face to her chest as she turned her head to him, smiling.

“Ah, how could I forget one of my most treasured memories.”

“And shootin’ up that manor?”

“Oh, and then finding out a man dear to my heart had died. Ah, wonderful, wonderful memories...” Her smile lingered as she chuckled.

He arched an eyebrow, her smile infectious even as concern tugged at him. “What about takin’ that ride and killin’ those Raiders?”

She chuckled again. “Mmh, and it was raining...”

_And you’d held me..._

_“J_ ack’s party was fun, too,” she added, her voice slightly lower.

One corner of his mouth lifted a little higher. “Yes, it was.”

She thought of his hands on her body, his mouth on hers, his tongue stroking...

_Dangerous territory, Ada... But that had been so_ **_nice_ ** _..._

_Pu_ lling her gaze from his, she pushed herself up, inhaling a quick breath.

“Well, those shoes have made my feet hurt,” she announced, sitting upright. “And I could do with another glass.”

Arthur’s gaze lingered on her before he ran his hand down his mouth and stood, draining his glass. “I’ll get it.”

She lifted her glass for him to take as he passed her, dropping her now empty hand into her lap. She heard him pour whisky into their glasses as she winced and shifted.

“Christ...” she muttered, straightening her back as her constricting bodice started to become a little bit too uncomfortable.

Pushing herself up to her feet, she reached her hands behind herself, her head tipping back slightly, and searched for the line of buttons that ran down her spine. Managing to undo a few from the base to the middle of her back, she then arched, trying to reach higher.

_Oh, for the love of God..._

_Hu_ ffing out a breath, she dropped her arms and accepted the glass Arthur offered to her, his brow arched.

“Strugglin’?”

“Mmh,” she hummed as she took a sip, swallowing quickly. “The eternal struggle of women.” Exhaling a heavy breath, she placed the glass down by the basin before her, her hands returning to their attempt at the buttons, her head back, her eyes closed. “You men have it so easy. Everything’s within reach and comfortable and easy, and we have to be contortionists and have to have assistance like children and we’re not able to breathe, and we can only eat one tiny thing otherwise the laces will burst and—”

“All right, all right, Jesus Christ, woman...” Setting his own glass down by the basin, Arthur shook his head and placed his hands on her hips, turning her back to him.

Her eyes widened as her head tipped forward and her hands dropped.

“Excuse me, can—”

“For Christ’s sake, don’t start lecturin’ me again.”

He started unhooking the rest of the buttons, pulling just a touch too roughly.

“Will you just be careful, please, this is a beautiful dress—”

“ _Yes_ , all righ’...”

Despite his grumbling, he became gentler. She exhaled a breath, her hands going to her hips. The material loosened around her shoulders and chest, prompting her to automatically raise her hand to keep it up against herself. A muffled cheer went up from the saloon below, at the poker game, probably, and she heard Arthur sigh under his breath at it.

Her lips twitched.

Then he reached the last button between her shoulder blades, his finger tips brushing against her skin.

_Lord..._

_Sh_ e stepped away, nodding.

“Thank you.” Keeping her back to him, she tugged her sleeves down her arms.

He didn’t say anything but she heard him pick his glass up, the floorboards creaking slightly as he moved somewhere. Gripping the dress at her hips, she gently eased it down, Stepping out of it, she swept it up and moved to the couch, carefully laying the dress over it. The floorboards sounded again as Arthur moved, sitting on the chest.

A trumpet sounded from somewhere a few streets over, a slow melody fitting for the time of night.

_Does this city ever sleep?_

_Re_ aching her hands back once more, she found the ties that, knotted together, held her bodice tight against her body.

_Begone, torture._

_Pu_ lling on a cord, the knot came undone, and she bent her arms higher to begin loosening the rest.

The floorboards creaked.

“Stop, stop... ‘bout to dislocate your damn shoulders...” Arthur murmured, brushing her hands aside.

He took over as her hands dropped, her lips twitching.

“You’re being very helpful, Mr Morgan.”

“Hate to see a damsel struggle,” he drawled.

She snorted. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, can’t stand it.”

“You hero. Should have asked for a medal from the Mayor.”

“I did. It’s comin’ soon.”

“To Tacitus Kilgore?”

“Nope, Arthur Morgan. I want women to know it’s me lookin’ after them.”

He smiled as she laughed, comfortably able to do so as the corset loosened around her ribcage.

“On behalf of woman-kind, I thank you.”

As he tugged at the last lace, her hand went up to grip the top of the corset to stop it falling and she made to step away.

Gentle hands at her hips held her in place.

Her lips parted as she kept her gaze ahead.

“Arthur...” she breathed, a slight hitch to her tone.

“Jus’... don’t move for a second,” he murmured.

She could feel the warmth of his hands through her thin chemise. It was such a light hold. She could have pulled away if she wanted to.

“You’re in my head, Ada,” he continued after a moment, his voice so low. “I just... I know I said it the other day and I know we also said what we said but... I think about you all the time. I can’t seem to stop.”

She swallowed lightly, her chest rising and falling a little quicker.

“I like hearin’ you laugh and seein’ you happy. I think about when I was kissin’ you—”

She turned, his hands gliding around her, finding her waist. The corset fell in the process, settling at her feet. Lifting her hands, she cupped his face and rose up on her toes to capture his lips in a firm kiss. His arms immediately went tight around her, holding her as his lips moved against hers. Her body instantly reacted to him, desire coursing through her.

God, she’d only had this once but she had missed it. To hell with everything, to all of it. Who gave a fuck. Her tongue slid against his, tasting the whisky they’d shared together, much like the night they’d last and first kissed. Except this time, she wouldn’t allow any interruptions.

Breaking the kiss, her hands dropped to unbutton his shirt, her breathing ragged.

Arthur’s own breathing was rather laboured as he fisted her chemise at her hips, staring down at her.

“Shit, woman, think you could give me a warnin’ next time?” he gravelled, one corner of his mouth rising.

She glanced up at him as her own lips lifted, arching an eyebrow. “You think there’s gonna be a next time? You’re bold, Mr Morgan.”

“Oh, I’m gonna make sure there’s a next time, sweetheart...”

She gasped and her smile widened as he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“Now this seems familiar...” he murmured, his gaze drifting over her.

“I think I’ll need reminding of a few parts,” she whispered as he stepped closer to the bed and placed his knee on it, laying her down. She sank back into the sheets as his body covered hers, holding himself up by resting his forearm above her head.

“Oh, really...”

Ada’s head tipped back as his lips descended upon her neck, her mouth dropping open with a sharp inhale. _Christ_ , he was good, his tongue and teeth grazing over her skin and making her fingers curl into his shirt at his back.

“... remember this?”

His low words against her ear had her biting at her lower lip as she nodded.

“Vaguely...”

She felt his smile, before his arm was sliding under her, pulling her close against him as he trailed warm, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. She just about managed to suppress a moan, pulling at his shirt slightly as her eyes closed. Every inch of her skin was yearning for his touch, _needed_ his touch to ground her, to stop her mind from spinning. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she slid her hand into his half-open shirt, gripping his shoulder, as her other pulled his shirt out of his trousers.

“Now, I don’t remember this...” His lips grazed against her jaw as he lifted his head to arch an eyebrow at her. Then he saw the fire in her eyes.

“Touch me,” she murmured, her hands now at his shirt buttons, finishing what she had started.

He didn’t need telling twice. Dipping his head, his mouth went to her chest, the neckline of her chemise low, baring the tops of her breasts. He kissed at the soft skin there, feeling her quick breaths.

Her nipples had hardened, visible through her chemise, and he lowered his mouth to one, wetting the material and gently pulling at the sensitive peak with his lips. The moan that escaped her was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He sucked and licked at her nipple, wanting to draw more sounds from her and she didn’t disappoint, one hand suddenly in his hair, gripping and holding him in place as she moaned.

He moved his attention to her other nipple, tugging at it with his teeth as his hand moved from above her to pinch and roll her wet nipple with his fingers.

“Oh my God...” he heard her breathe as she tipped her head back, her back arching.

Heat pooled in her lower stomach, spreading down, and she desperately needed relief. Lifting her hips, she rocked them once against his thigh, and he answered with a groan. She liked that. Angling her hips, she rolled them again, and brushed against his straining erection. His mouth paused in its ministrations as his fingers pressed into her side, another, rougher, groan escaping him. She liked that very much, so she did it again, then again, picking up a slow rhythm.

From the sound of his following groans, his teeth were gritted, and he pressed his forehead against her chest. When, after a few moments, she felt his own hips start to move, she slid her hand down between their bodies and brushed her fingers down him.

He grunted and pulled his hips back suddenly.

“Wait, wait, Ada...” Pushing himself up with one hand, he gazed down at her, his other arm still resting under her, cradling her.

She blinked a few times as she focused on him, wetting her lips. “Sorry, was that not, was I not supposed to do that?”

He shook his head slightly as he tried to find the right words. “No, no, that ain’t it, I... We just can’t... I don’t think we should go the, ah, the whole way.”

She gazed at him, her eyes searching his, and the fire in her eyes started to dim. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just got—”

“Nah, don’t apologise, sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along her lower lip. “I just... don’t think it’s right.”

She arched an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “You waiting until marriage?”

_Or for Mary._

He snorted, his hand returning to settle beside her. “Nah, just...”

When he couldn’t find the words after a few moments, she lifted her hand and cupped his jaw, making her smile widen a little more. “It’s okay... It’s quite sensible, actually.”

He scoffed, his eyebrows raising. “That’s somethin’ I ain’t ever been called.”

“What an interesting night indeed.”

Arthur exhaled a laugh before pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to her lips, feeling her body instantly press closer to his.

_Christ, woman..._

_Pu_ lling back, he carefully pulled his arm out from under her and pushed off the bed, standing at the end of it.

“You want another drink?” he asked as he straightened, running a hand through his hair, gazing down at her.

_Oh, Jesus..._

_Sh_ e looked absolutely beautiful. Her curls were splayed out around her head, her skin was flushed, her chemise was pulled down, keeping the curves of her breasts visible to his appreciative gaze, and she was smiling.

“Yes, please.”

Nodding, he pulled the glass from the dresser and, deciding it did indeed need topping up, rounded the bed to the table. 

Ada stared at him. He was waiting for Mary. Or marriage. Or marriage to Mary. Either way... fine. She didn’t want anything serious. Neither did he most likely... But what was stopping them from just... living in the moment? If he really, truly didn’t want this then he wouldn’t have kissed her, wouldn’t have kissed at her _nipples_... He might not want her, exactly, but she could live with that. She would live with that.

As he removed the stopper from the bottle, he heard her clear her throat, the sheets rustling as she sat up.

“I’ve heard there are... other things a man and woman can do to pleasure each other.”

He paused, the rim of the bottle knocking against the glass. Then he looked at her, her hands clasped in her lap.

“Is that right.”

“Yes.”

For all that she looked slightly nervous, she lifted her chin as she held his gaze. He set the glass and bottle down.

“What kind of things?”

She wet her lips. “Things that... just involve hands... and mouths.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

She watched him as he pulled his shirt off, tossing it aside. She’d seen his bare chest before but even still she couldn’t stop her gaze from quickly travelling across his torso. Her breathing then hitched as he nodded a few times, moving back to the end of the bed, his arms folded.

“And what kind of things could I do with my hands and mouth to you?”

She was too drunk on desire and need to call him out for being the bastard that he was.

She wet her lips again. “Well... You could kiss my breasts like you were doing or you could... you could...”

He’d moved onto the bed as she spoke, leaning over her, his lips inches from hers. Lowering his hand as she trailed off, he moved it under her chemise and brushed his fingers against the seam of her drawers, eliciting a sharp gasp from her.

“Touch you here?” he murmured, stroking her again, and her back straightened as a low moan sounded from the back of her throat, her hand going to his bicep. Exhaling a breath, he pressed his fingers against her and her eyes closed. “Christ... You’re wet, sweetheart...”

She could only hum in response, her nails digging into him as he continued to stroke her through her wet drawers.

“Has anyone else ever touched you like this before?” he murmured, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Her tongue darted out over her lips as she shook her head, opening her eyes after a moment to meet his gaze.

“No,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed. “Only me.”

“And how do you like to touch yourself?”

“Arthur...” she muttered, her cheeks flushing.

“No, I ain’t sayin’ it to embarrass you, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his hand pausing. “I just wanna make it good for you.”

He was seconds away from grumbling at her features softening, when she cupped his face and pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his. He groaned as her tongue traced along the seam of his mouth, gently asking for entrance which he gladly gave. As her tongue dipped into his mouth he slid an arm around her and guided her onto her back, her head resting on the pillows. He would have been more than happy to spend the rest of the night just teasing and kissing her plump lips when he felt her hands leave his face and her body shift under his as she lifted the hem of her chemise a few inches and began to push her drawers down.

He helped her, carefully tugging them down with one hand until she kicked them off, then her hand was on his.

“I like it gentle,” she murmured so quietly against his lips as she slid his hand under her chemise and he touched the wet lips of her cunt.

Her hips bucked slightly as she inhaled a sharp breath and the kiss paused, both of them just focused on the feeling. His middle finger slowly slid up her slit, gathering her wetness, and she made a sound akin to a _keen_ as he circled that bundle of nerves that seemed to serve no other purpose than to give pleasure.

Arthur could do gentle. He could do slow. He could do both until the end of days if it meant he got to watch her like this; her head tipped back, one hand on his forearm, the other his shoulder, her lips parted, her breaths ragged. His only qualm was that he wanted to give more. Drawing his arm out from under her, he caressed her hip as he ran two fingers up and down her slit, taking the time every time to rub the spot that prompted the loudest moans from her. Lowering his head, he then began to trail kisses down the curve of her soft, round stomach, moving down as he went until he was settled between her spread legs.

Ada eyes snapped open, her gaze darting down, and she made an involuntary moan at the sight of him.

_Oh, sweet Lord..._

A corner of his mouth lifted as their eyes locked and she didn’t think she could breathe for a moment. Then his tongue swept up her folds.

“Oh holy God...” The curse tumbled from her lips before she could stop it, her eyes widening as her stomach muscles tightened.

His low, answering chuckle made her hips buck, and his hands circled under her thighs to settle on her stomach, holding her down. He traced his tongue along her pussy, dragging another moaned curse from her.

“This what you heard about, sweetheart?” he murmured, his deep voice vibrating against her so deliciously.

“Didn’t, hmh... didn’t know it would be this good...” she breathed, her hands moving from her shoulders to her stomach, to the bedsheets, unsure of what to do with them.

She then gripped at the sheets as his tongue lapped at her cunt in long, rhythmic strokes. Her teeth instinctively sank into her lower lip to muffle her loud moans as her eyes closed.

“... I want to hear you...”

God, his _voice_. Had he always had such a delectable voice? Had she just not noticed or had she not wanted to? And those words...

“... Get out of your head... Lemme hear you...”

A moan from the back of her throat sounded. She felt his fingers press into her skin slightly and his tongue started to move a little faster. Releasing a long breath, she didn’t care that it sounded like a whine. The feel of his stubble rubbing against her skin didn’t even bother her, she _liked_ it.

Then he sucked at the sensitive bud. Crying out, she couldn’t stop her hand from moving to his head, her fingers gripping at his hair. He groaned at that, sucking a little harder before he licked at her again, alternating his ministrations that had her mewling and rolling her hips up.

His gaze flicked up to her. Christ, if he thought she looked good before... Shifting slightly, he moved a hand from her stomach to her folds and slid a finger inside her. Jesus Christ, she was warm and wet and tight and... Fuck... The gasp she gave and the tightening of her slick walls around him had his already straining cock begging for relief.

He moved his finger, slowly fucking her with it. Both of her hands were on his head now, her fingers twisting into his hair and, hell, even that felt good. He could feel her hips jerking under his arm which he’d now lain across her stomach, wanting to buck and writhe. She was so wet he could easily slip a second finger inside her, moving them as one.

Jesus, what would it feel like to slide his cock into her, to fuck her and have her wet around him—

No, no, he couldn’t do that, shouldn’t even torment himself thinking about that. This was enough.

“Arthur...”

Her moan of his name, it never sounding so sweet, had him looking up again, meeting her gaze. Her cheeks were flushed and her breaths were ragged; she was close, and he wanted nothing more than to see her tumble over the edge.

Her finger tips were brushing against his cheek, her eyes half-lidded. “Kiss me, Arthur.”

He surged up, bracing an arm by her head as his lips descended upon hers. She moaned against his lips, cupping his face and holding him close as his fingers continued to move inside her, his thumb pressing against the swollen bud. He felt her start to clench around his fingers and her lips broke from his as she cried out.

“That’s it, Ada... Let go, that’s it...” he murmured, drawing his head back to watch her.

Tilting her head back, all she could and wanted to focus on was the pleasure coursing through her, building and taking hold. Then, he curled his fingers inside her and brushed his thumb across the bud. Her release consumed her as her back arched, her head spinning now for an entirely different reason, cries tumbling from her lips.

“Oh, God, Arthur...”

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her blunt nails sank into his shoulders as her head rolled to the side, her hips rising off the bed. She looked like an angel, he thought, she looked so damn beautiful. He kissed down her neck, across her shoulder, chest. He wrapped his lips around her nipple, sucking lightly as he gradually slowed his fingers, wanting to prolong her pleasure as much as he could. It wasn’t until he felt her fingers wrapping around his wrist, pulling slightly, that he stopped completely, pressing a kiss to her chest.

Ada hummed quietly as his fingers carefully withdrew from her. Her hand remained on his, though, and he lifted it, her fingers, without even being aware of it, lacing with his as he settled their hands on the bed. Kissing the corner of her mouth, he inhaled a long breath.

“Got you quiet now, huh, it’s nice when you ain’t givin’ me shit...”

She laughed, her eyes opening a moment after as she stretched her legs out, contentment spreading through her. “Shut your mouth, Arthur Morgan.”

“All righ’...”

His lips on hers muffled her laugh, her arms wrapping around his neck. It was a soft kiss and they both let it linger.

God, he could get used to this.

Their kiss quickly ended, however, when he felt her hand at the waistband of his trousers.

“Ada...” He pulled back a little, holding himself up over her. “... You don’t—”

“I want to,” she murmured, her other hand on the back of his neck. “Please. Let me.”

He sighed quietly. “Ada—”

“Let me.”

Her fingers brushed against the front of his trousers and his jaw tightened.

_Christ..._

He nodded. Tilting her chin up, she pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his jaw and his eyes closed. He felt her unbuttoning his trousers, counting each one in his mind. There were only three but time, it felt, stretched between each of them. Then, her fingers were on his cock. He exhaled a short, sharp breath, his teeth gritting. Her touch was so light, so gentle. He didn’t deserve the tenderness of it but, Lord, he wasn’t about to stop her.

Her hand was suddenly on his shoulder, making his eyes open.

“What is it? Do you want to st—”

“Turn over.”

“What?”

She grazed her teeth over her lower lip, unsuccessfully hiding her smile. “Turn over, please. On to your back.”

“Why—”

“Because I said so.”

He didn’t want to argue. He shifted off of her and on to his back, adjusting his head on the pillows. She turned on to her side, her finger tips running up his arm furthest from her. His jaw moved slightly. She traced over the scar at his shoulder the O’Driscoll’s had given him before her fingers glided across his chest. They continued on down, past other, smaller scars, through the hair that covered his chest, down his stomach.

He swallowed as he watched her and she watched her hand. He barely breathed as she explored and he didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to break whatever plan she had or her curiosity. Then she reached the waistband of his trousers. In a matter of seconds her light fingers were dipping inside. A final proposal that she didn’t have to died on his tongue when she slid her fingers around his aching cock.

He sucked in a breath as she withdrew him from the confines of his trousers, freeing him. His cock was painfully hard, and her fingers flexed around him as she adjusted to the weight, eliciting a hiss from him. He had no words, watching her, waiting. He then realised she was waiting, too, no, not waiting, pausing, considering.

“It helps...” Her gaze rose to meet his as he spoke, having to pause to clear his throat. “... It helps if your hand’s a little wet.”

Her lips twitching, she then opened her mouth and licked her palm. The sight of her tongue made his fingers curl into the bedsheets.

Lord, he was acting like a boy who’d never known the touch of a woman... when was the last time he had? Hell, he couldn’t remember, he didn’t _want_ to remember, 

He thought he saw the ghost of a smile before she wrapped her fingers around him and moved her wet palm up and down languidly, curiously. The groan he released had a hiss to it, his eyes falling shut.

_Christ..._

He just felt. Felt her light, gentle touch caressing him, the soothing pleasure that stretched throughout his body. She was exploring, using her palm, then the tips of her fingers, then he felt... Fuck, then he felt her _tongue_...

He breathed out the curse as she touched and circled her tongue around his tip tentatively, her finger tips still stroking the length of him. He wanted to see her face, lose himself in her blue eyes, she’d probably smile, too, and it’d be so good, but he didn’t want to demand anything of her, ask any more of her, in fact, he...

He couldn’t.

“Hey...” His hand found her cheek, stroking lightly, and he only opened his eyes when he felt her pull back, knowing it would break his resolve if he saw her between his knees and...

Clearing his throat, he found her gaze, a corner of his mouth lifting slightly at her frown of confusion.

“I can’t, I...”

“Did you not like it?”

Her quiet voice almost broke his heart.

“No, no, I, I did, but I...” He licked his lips. How could he even begin to explain? “I...”

She was just looking up at him with a beautiful, open expression, but he just couldn’t.

“... I wanna taste you again.”

She blinked, her lips parting a little wider. That softened his smile.

“... But you just—”

“Please, sweetheart.” He was asking for so much more than was being said. He didn’t know if she’d understand that as she gazed at him.

Then, a smirk pulled at her lips as she placed her hands on his knees and pushed herself up, her mouth nearing his. “How could I say no to that, you hero?”

“For Christ’s sake, woman...”

A wide smile spread across her lips as he caught her around the waist, turned them and lay her back on the bed. She threw her head back, her fingers tangling into his hair as she lost herself to the sensations of him, him, him.


	12. Smooth As Tennessee Whisky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

By candlelight, parts of her hair almost looked gold. He brushed his fingers over it, having learned minutes earlier that if he ran them through it they would just become tangled and she’d start giving him shit.

Now, she was quiet, lying on her side, her head on his stomach, facing him. Her eyes were closed, her hand tucked under her chin, holding onto the sheet he’d draped over his lower half and her, and his gaze lingered on her. It travelled over the faint scar on her left eyebrow, the light dusting of freckles across her skin, some darker than others, her swollen lips.

The last one brought a smile to his own.

She’d come undone again under his mouth and fingers, her hips bucking and rolling as she’d moaned freely and loudly. Then, she hadn’t wanted to stop kissing him, her fingers locked in his hair, her tongue dancing with his. It wasn’t until her legs had wrapped around his hips that he’d reluctantly drawn back, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if they continued.

He’d lit more candles, poured himself a drink then settled back on the bed. She’d curled up, resting her head on him and he’d tugged the sheet over them and they’d been lying quietly since.

The saloon below had quietened, too, though there would be an occasional laugh or raising of voices, lasting only a few seconds. Hooves would sometimes sound on the cobbles outside but other than that the streets were silent.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at peace.

“What are you smiling about?” she murmured, making his gaze meet hers.

“Nothin’.”

“Really?”

“Nothin’ you need to know about.”

“Thinking about John?”

She laughed as he gently tugged on a curl, his lips pressing together to hide his smile.

“What were _you_ thinkin’ about?”

Her head shifted a little, her smile now lingering. “My parents, actually.”

His fingers resumed stroking her hair. “What about ‘em?”

“They shared a night similar to this. My mother never told me the details, as you can imagine, but from what I gather that first night, when they ran away, they stayed at a hotel and probably got up to all kinds of mischief.”

She hummed softly as his fingers massaged her scalp.

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask, how did they meet?”

“At a local dance.” Her hand moved out from under the covers, settling over his at his side. “He was passing through one night, on his way to New York to make a decent living, and he needed a place to stay. The saloon was holding a dance and he decided to have a drink before retiring for the night when he saw my mother. She’d been rebellious for the first time in her life and had snuck out of the house with a friend and gone to the saloon. One of the greatest nights of her life, she called it.” Her smiled widened a little. “’I danced so much, Adaline, I nearly wore the soles of my shoes down. Then I saw your daddy.. _._ ’ He asked her to dance, she said yes and that was it. She knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. He made her laugh harder than anyone else she had ever met, and would have done anything for her.” Her finger tips idly brushed over his skin. “Her parents hated it, of course, so that’s why they ran away. She loved them but she loved him more. He was enough, she said.” She took in a quiet breath, her fingers tracing over his knuckles. “Then Thomas came along, then me. We were the only family she needed, she said, though she kept in touch with my uncle. He’d been exiled from the family for reasons she didn’t know before she met Daddy but she’d been writing to him secretly and he said he was happy for her, though he never visited.”

Arthur drew her hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing against her temple. “Do you remember much about him, your daddy?”

She shrugged a shoulder, grazing her teeth over her lower lip. “There are pieces of memories, then some things that I don’t know whether I know because I actually remember them or because Thomas and Mama told me them.” Her hand moved to his chest, her fingers splaying. “What were your parents like?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, exhaling a long breath. “My father was a no good bastard, didn’t much care for me. I don’t remember my Momma very well, she died when I was very young, but from what I do she was a kind lady.”

“What happened to your father?”

“He was hanged for larceny. I went and watched... It didn’t come soon enough.”

His gaze had fallen to where her fingers were tracing gentle shapes over his skin, and she smiled softly.

“Look at us, two orphans with such tragic stories.”

He chuckled, his free hand rising to settle over hers, pausing her drawings. “I don’t think adults can be orphans, sweetheart.”

“Sure we can. People will feel more sorry for us, then.”

“From what I’ve seen, people ain’t pityin’ orphans a lot these days.”

She snorted, adjusting her head on him. “Well-bred people do. They all read _Oliver Twist_ and suddenly developed a conscience.”

“What’s _Oliver Twist_?”

“It’s a story from an English author about a boy who’s an orphan and he gets taken in by a gang of thieves led by a very charismatic man...” She trailed off, her smile widening. “... Now I mention it, it sounds rather familiar...”

He chuckled again. “Yeah, yeah, what else happens?”

“Thieving, a grand plan and murder. Oh, but he ends up being adopted by a very rich man so don’t despair, there’s hope for you yet.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at his lips. “I guess there is... You sure like to read a lot, huh?”

Her lips twitched. “You make it sound like it’s an undesirable trait.”

“Nah, I just... You just read so fast, you and Hosea is always swappin’ books and talkin’ about ‘em. I can never get into ‘em.”

“Well, between playing make-believe, thinking about my dead relatives and sewing, there wasn’t much else for a young lady to do.” 

He arched an eyebrow. “Weren’t those suitors takin’ up all your time?”

She licked her lips to hide the beginnings of a smile. “Not as much as you’d think.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it a moment later. “Did you really not accept their proposals out of practicality?”

“At first, yes... then it became up to my uncle when he realised he could make a good business arrangement if I were to have the right suitor. There aren’t many good arrangements in Strawberry, however, so the proposals stopped.”

He asked before he could stop himself. “Had a lot, did you?”

“I had six.”

“ _Six?!_ ”

Her eyebrows shot up as a wide smile spread across her lips. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not that hideous and boring, am I?”

“No, I, I just—”

She cut in, deciding to spare him from having to search for a reply, still grinning. “I think it was just because I was new, at first, someone different.”

“Nah.” His fingers gently caressed the back of her neck. “I think it was somethin’ more than that.”

A fluttering sensation rose in her stomach as he gazed at her. Smiling widely after a moment, she lifted her head and leaned up on her elbow, the sheet slipping down her chest a little.

She didn’t know why she asked it.

“And what about you, Arthur Morgan, what ladies have you charmed in your life-time?”

His hand slid down her shoulder, his thumb brushing against her bicep. “Mary and I were engaged once, and... Well, you know already, it didn’t work out.”

“There’s been no one else?”

He gazed at her, wrapping his finger around a curl, then shook his head after a few moments. “Nah, no one else. Ain’t had the time, really.”

She tilted her head. “Not even with Mary-Beth?”

Arthur exhaled a breath, tugging on the curl slightly. “Nah, I ain’t ever done nothin’ with Mary-Beth. It sounds like you want me to have, though.”

“No, I just...” She shrugged a shoulder. “She likes you so much. I thought she would have tried to initiate something or...”

He arched an eyebrow. “Or I would have taken advantage?”

She pressed her lips together, a smile pulling at them. “No... She’s just a sweet girl, what’s not to like?”

“I know, I just... Ain’t been interested. You, however...” She got the feeling he was trying to distract her as he sat up, his arm wrapping around her back... and she allowed it, leaning into his hold with a widening smile. “... You have certainly caught my attention.”

She didn’t mind the distraction at all. “Mmh, and how have I done that?”

Arthur snorted, raising his eyebrows. “You lookin’ for compliments, darlin’? ‘cause I ain’t the best at ‘em.”

Her finger tips slid up his arm as his hand settled on her hip. “You don’t have to give compliments with words, Morgan.”

He laughed, half in awe, half in incredulity. “Miss Adaline, you’re quickly becomin’ insatiable.”

“That’s a big word for you.”

“Christ, let’s shut that mouth of yours...”

As she laughed, lying back on the bed, the sheet falling away, his mouth descending upon her, neither of them heard the movement on the balcony boards outside their room.

* * *

She awoke to his arm across her stomach and his mouth on her shoulder.

“I’m the insatiable one?”

“Be quiet, woman.”

He helped her dress, mainly as an excuse to have his hands on her. She said as much, grinning, and he didn’t bother to deny it, his lips finding hers. After returning the key to the bartender, who never seemed to sleep, they returned to their horses with their luggage, deciding to forgo breakfast as Arthur decided ‘ _we_ _ain’t givin’ this place any more money_ ’.

Once out of the already awake Saint Denis, they journeyed back to camp at a leisurely pace, smiling at passersby and offering greetings. It was a warm morning, the sun gently heating the earth. Glancing at Arthur occasionally, he would soon meet her gaze, a corner of his mouth lifting.

Javier greeted them upon their return.

“Well, good morning.”

“Hello, Javier, how are you?”

“Just fine, Miss Annie, just fine, and you?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

His far too knowing grin at her reply had her eyes narrowing slightly.

They hitched their horses, Kieran appearing from somewhere with a quiet ‘ _Hello_ ’ and a promise to brush Faithful and Ophelia down. After retrieving their luggage from their saddles, they walked side by side down the main path, trying hard not to look at one another.

Karen and Tilly sat on the empty fountain, cups of coffee in their hands, suspiciously expectantly. A wide smile spread across Karen’s lips as Tilly hid hers with her cup, taking a long sip.

“Hey, you two, how was your evenin’?”

“Hello, Karen, it was fine, thank you,” Arthur answered, his tone disinterested, searching the area.

“Sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Turning to Ada, his features softened a touch. “I’ll see you later, all righ’? I gotta catch up with Dutch.”

She nodded, smiling, and watched him walk away for a few moments before she turned to the girls. Tilly’s lips were pressed against her cup, Karen’s mouth was open in a broad grin, and Ada exhaled a long breath.

“Miss Annie Sawyer, you—”

“Good day, Karen, I need to get some coffee.”

“I bet you do, you—”

“See you later, girls.”

Ada left them giggling to themselves, shaking her head. People had obviously been speculating the night before and she found she wasn’t agitated at their speculations being true, or the teasing that had already begun... Not yet, anyway.

Placing her small bags in her stand, she brushed her skirt down, her eyes landing on Arthur on the other side of the camp, talking with Hosea and Lenny. He was smiling at whatever Lenny was saying, and that made her smile. However, after a few moments, it faltered.

Away from camp he had seemed more himself, relaxed, his own person. Back at it... How would it go from here?

* * *

Arthur chuckled to himself as he made his way up the stairs of the house. Lenny always made him laugh, God damn, he loved that kid.

“Have a good night?”

Already knowing who it was and already wanting to beat the shit out of them, he glanced up as he reached the top floor, finding a grinning John Marston leaning against the wall.

“Are you still here?” Arthur retorted as he moved past him, heading to his room.

John followed him into his room, laughing. “Trust me, I ain’t goin’ nowhere for a while.”

_Worse than the God damn girls..._

“Get outta my room, Marston, go and teach your son to stay outta people’s business.”

“Oh, he’s plenty good at that.”

“Maybe he can teach you, then.” He narrowed his eyes at the younger man as he dropped his bags and took his jacket off, watching John sit on his bed, leaning back against the wall and still grinning.

“Interesting times...”

_Oh, for_ **_Christ’s_ ** _sake..._

_Tu_ rning his head to find Dutch standing out on the balcony between the open doors, cigar in his hand, _also_ grinning, Arthur sighed heavily.

_This is gonna be a long fuckin’ day._

“I guess,” he answered, arching an eyebrow as he rolled his sleeves up. “So, what’s next? Dancing lessons? Deportment?”

“More along the lines of armed robbery.” Both John and Arthur looked at him, interested. Dutch smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “Hosea’s handling reconnaissance on the bank. He and Abigail are gonna run some distractions, see how the law reacts.” 

John didn’t say anything, playing with a fraying section of his shirt sleeve. 

“Good,” Arthur said, running a hand down his face and holding off a yawn.

“Oh, and I spoke to Evelyn Miller,” Dutch said proudly, taking a seat on a crate. “A fine man. Here helping the Indian chief we saw.”

“Yeah, I met him, too,” Arthur said, taking a seat himself and stretching his legs out, “with the Mayor.”

Dutch nodded. “He’s lobbying officials in Saint Denis on their behalf. Maybe we could help.”

Arthur shrugged. It didn’t seem much like their area, in fact it was way off, it was a big issue, but... Dutch adored Miller and, well, _‘save people as need savin’_ ’. “Maybe.”

“Now, I think there’s a lot of money on that riverboat in Saint Denis,” Dutch continued, probably having spoken about it the night before with Hosea. “A _lot_ of money. And Trelawney, he’s investigating for us.” Dutch smiled, glancing at them both. “One big score down here, boys, and we disappear. We’re almost headin’ home.”

Arthur glanced at John as Dutch stood and walked past him, but couldn’t catch his gaze. He was just looking at Dutch.

“And where is home, Dutch?” Arthur asked lightly, looking to him.

The older man paused and turned back to them. “I don’t know, exactly.” Then, he smiled again. “But I can smell it.” Nodding, he moved out onto the balcony. “I’m gonna go investigate this trolley thing Old Bronte was talking about.”

“Okay.”

As Dutch departed, Arthur looked back to John who finally looked at him. Raising his eyebrows slightly, the younger man then suddenly broke out into a grin.

“So, you were gonna say how your evenin’ was?”

“I am gonna throw you off the fuckin’ balcony...”

* * *

"... Do you want the stick? Do you, Cain?”

The dog barked, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he seemed to be almost smiling.

“Go on, go and get it!” 

She flung the long stick away, the dog immediately racing after it. She placed her hands on her hips as she watched him leap up into the air, catch it and... continue on running, disappearing behind a shed. Lifting her hands in faint exasperation, Ada then dropped them and let her gaze travel the expanse of the land. It had turned into a _very_ warm day, drawing nearly all activity to a halt, as usual, people taking the opportunity to nap or relax. She’d unpacked what little luggage she had, leaving her new, beautiful dress wrapped in cloth to keep it safe, had some coffee and stew, then read a few paragraphs of her book, then gone to find work, then helped Kieran feed the horses.

They were all good distractions from thinking about Arthur.

She was fine with it all now, anyway. It was all straight in her head. It wasn’t serious. They were just enjoying each other, and why not? It wasn’t for forever. It was fine.

She’d wanted to talk to Sadie, to fill her in, but she was out hunting for most of the day. Anyway, it was all fine.

Whilst brushing down Faithful, she’d heard Cain faintly barking at the back of the house and had gone to investigate. She’d found him digging a hole, several others close by, and had decided they both needed to keep themselves busy.

Cain had obviously decided otherwise.

_Some people are just out for themselves these days._

Turning, her arms swinging slightly as she tried to think of what to do next, staring at the ground, she headed for her stand.

Sleep? No, her body felt too... restless. Read? No, same reason. Walk? Possibly, but in this heat—

She collided with something solid. Hands gently gripped her arms as her head whipped up and she raised her fists. Arthur snorted as she paused, her body relaxing.

“You really think you could knock somebody out?”

She smiled, raising an eyebrow as her hands dropped onto his chest before she swiftly remembered where they were, her hands falling to her sides. “I’ve yet to get into a fist fight so we could find out.”

“Well, I know you ain’t that strong.” 

Her mouth dropped open in good-natured indignation. “How dare you, you don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“Your grip on my hair weren’t that strong.”

She pressed her lips together, involuntary heat rising on her cheeks as she fought off a smile. He hadn’t released her yet and she lifted her hands, knocking his arms away. He allowed it, following behind her after she’d side-stepped him and continued on.

“Well, maybe I didn’t want to hurt you, you’re very delicate.”

He snorted again. “Maybe. You can certainly bring me to my knees.”

_For the love of God..._

“Don’t you have important things to be doing, besides bothering me? Like robbing innocent people?”

“I like botherin’ you, though.”

“Obsession isn’t an attractive trait, Mr Morgan.”

“I can tell you what is attractive...”

Before she knew it, he’d caught her by the waist and pulled her to the side, pressing her against the wood of the house, one hand on her hip, the other by her head. A lazy smile broke out across his features as she huffed, his gaze sweeping over her.

“... The way you look today, Miss Sawyer.”

It was so hard not to smile. Folding her arms, she raised her chin.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr Morgan, but I have things to be getting on with so please move.”

“Like what?”

“Things.”

“Such as?”

“ _Things_.”

“From what I saw, I think you got some time to spare.”

“I am actually incredibly busy.”

“Too busy for a kiss?”

That made her pause, her breath catching slightly. He took the opportunity.

Cupping her cheek, he bowed his head and kissed her softly.

_Oh, Lord..._

She relented... for a few moments.

“ _Arthur Morgan_...” she murmured in the best scandalised tone she could muster as she drew her head back, her gaze darting about.

His smirk returned. “What? Everybody knows.”

“Everybody _thinks.”_

_“E_ verybody’s _right.”_

_Sh_ e huffed again, though he could see the smile beginning to form. “ _Still..._ ”

“Still, what?” he prompted as she didn’t continue. Chuckling, he brushed his thumb over her parted lips, his fingers splaying across her jaw and neck. “I can’t stop thinking about how good you taste...” he murmured after a few moments, his tone significantly lower.

She inhaled a sharp breath, glancing over his shoulder before meeting his gaze. “... I can’t stop thinking about you, either.”

She said the words so quietly she was surprised he heard her. His thumb settled under her chin, applying a light pressure, making her head tip back.

“Good.”

His lips were on hers once more, teasing hummed moans from her as he kissed her leisurely. His tongue stroked at her in a way reminiscent of how he had rendered her speechless the night before... _three times_... and that morning... She hadn’t had much of a chance to return the favour, but the next opportunity she had...

Her hands found their way to his chest, curling into his faded blue shirt and holding on. Lord, she wanted his hands on her again, this was just so—

A pointed cough had her head recoiling back.

“Am I interruptin’ somethin’?” Hosea asked, smiling even as his eyebrows rose in innocence.

Annie met his gaze and swiftly released Arthur as her cheeks flushed, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, and Arthur sighed wearily, straightening. Hosea couldn’t _help_ but smile at the sight of them.

_Just like he’s a damn teenager again..._

“You know you are, old man.” Arthur dropped his hands to his gunbelt as he turned with an arched brow, silently communicating a ‘ _what the hell_ ’ to the older man.

Hosea raised his hands with a shrug. “My eyesight ain’t as good as it once was, I couldn’t tell if you were chokin’ her or not.”

Over Arthur’s shoulder, he could see Annie just about managing to hide a smile, her fingers pressed against her lips, but Arthur wasn’t as obviously amused.

“Righ’. What d’you want?”

“Josiah wants to see you in Saint Denis, at the tailor’s.”

“Why?”

“Why don’t you go and find out?”

Sighing again, knowing exactly why Trelawney wanted him and cursing bad timing for it, Arthur muttered under his breath before turning to her. Hosea watched as his features softened and Annie smiled as their eyes met.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he murmured, intimately, and Annie nodded, her hands clasped in front of her belt as she tried to control her smile.

“Okay.” Her response was just as quiet, and Hosea almost felt guilty for his intrusion. Almost.

Arthur shook his head at him as he passed. “We need to talk about boundaries.”

Hosea chuckled. “I think it’s a little late for that, son.”

They both watched him stride past the fountain and towards Ophelia, each smiling in varying degrees of fondness. After a few moments, his gaze slid to her.

He liked the girl, she was bright, could talk about literature just as much as he could and she had proven herself to be a valuable asset to the group. And, perhaps, he could admit, some of his opinion was also influenced by the fact Arthur was sweet on her, most evidently... and that was good.

The boy deserved something of his own, something good to keep him going. Dutch had agreed with him on that.

“Sorry about that,” he finally said as her attention turned to him, “but duty calls, unfortunately.”

Her cheeks were still glowing a faint red. “Oh, no, it’s no trouble at all. I have my own things to be getting on with, too.”

“Come, then,” he beckoned jovially, “let me escort you to your duties.”

She smiled widely, inclining her head. “Why, thank you, sir.”

She really was one of the good ones.

“How are ya gettin’ on with that book I lent ya?”

“Oh, I’m really enjoying it!” She found her arm looping through his as they headed for the girl’s wagon, his hand patting her arm. “Far more than a book I bought myself, actually.”

“Have you got to chapter eighteen yet?”

“No, why?”

“Ooh, you’ll see.”

* * *

Arthur didn’t return for the evening meal and neither did Trelawney. Upon enquiring to Charles, she discovered they were to make a hit on a riverboat in Saint Denis along with Javier and Strauss.

“My God...”

“Yes, it does seem rather...”

“Ambitious?”

“I think we laugh at that word here.”

She gave a light chuckle at that, then half-listened to him explain how he made poisoned arrows.

_Stop worrying. He’ll be fine. He’s done things like this a thousand times before._

The rest of the camp, bar Bill, Micah and Sadie who were on watch duty, and Molly, who was sulking somewhere, gathered to eat together, Ada seating herself beside Hosea so they could continue discussing the book she was reading. If she went more in-depth than they usually did in her analysis then Hosea didn’t comment, more than happy to answer her questions and talk for nearly an hour.

Karen carrying a small crate and grunting from the weight of it finally brought their attention back to the group.

“Now... why don’t we have some fun of our own tonight?” the blonde woman grinned, placing the crate of what they quickly identified to be whisky down by her chair.

“Karen, where the hell did you get that from?” Tilly was the first to ask.

“Saloon in town gets deliveries every Thursday and I’m good at makin’ friends,” Karen answered proudly, looking very pleased with herself, “Now, we got plenty so drink up, everyone!”

As she handed bottles to Mary-Beth and Pearson to pass around, her gaze flicked up to Ada.

“C’mon, Annie, even you, have a little drink with us.”

Ada considered it for a second. “Fine, but just one.”

Having expected a little more resistance, so very much delighted, Karen beamed as she gave her a bottle. “That’s a girl, let’s have fun tonight!”

_Yes, please let’s._

They all stayed around the main fire, some sharing bottles, the rest having their own. Ada continued her conversation with Hosea for a little while before Lenny sat on the other side of him and initiated a discussion about Saint Denis, his eyes wide as he told them of what he’d seen being sold at the markets and the people that had sold them.

Half a bottle in, Karen claimed they didn’t need Javier to provide music, slapping her hands against her thighs as she began a rowdy song that Uncle, Lenny and the other girls soon joined her in bellowing.

Hosea excused himself shortly after with a light smile, claiming his ‘ _old bones were demandin’ rest_ ’. She watched him walk to the house, noting how stiff he seemed.

_Despite everything, they really are just human._

She nearly snorted at herself.

_What a romanticism._

She’d only been sipping at her own bottle of whisky, now actually a little used to the taste, but those sips had been adding up and a lightness had spread through her, an urge to just smile all the time lingering.

“Is this seat taken?”

Her head tipped back and her eyes rose to meet Dutch’s.

_Oh._

“No, go ahead,” she replied, glad her smile for Hosea had remained in place.

Dutch returned it, taking Hosea’s vacated seat with a quiet groan as he settled down.

“How are you, Annie?” he asked, settling his hands on his knees. “We haven’t had a real chance to talk since that unfortunate incident with the O’Driscolls.”

“Which one,” she joked good-naturedly.

He chuckled. “Indeed. Are you all right, though?”

She nodded, holding her bottle against her chest. “I’m fine, thank you, really. This is a wonderful group of people to be with.”

Dutch cast his gaze around, his features softening. “That they are. I feel very lucky.”

“As do I.”

His eyes found her’s again. “And we are very lucky to have you in turn. I can’t tell you how appreciative I am of your work at the party. Those papers you found will help us immeasurably.”

Something in her chest twinged slightly. She shrugged her shoulders, wondering faintly how long she’d been smiling for. “Oh, well, I just want to help in any way I can.”

“And bringing Arthur back? Ridin’ out to Braithwaite Manor with us? Hell, defendin’ yourself against O’Driscolls _before_ you came to us? You are a _hell_ of a woman, Miss Sawyer.”

She laughed, quite bemused by her own achievements now they were grouped together. “Thank you very much, Dutch.”

He patted her knee gently, and it was in no way similar to how Micah had once lain his hand on her. “Don’t mention it. I like to give credit where credit is due.”

She couldn’t find the words to reply, her mind slower, so she just nodded, offering him her bottle a moment after.

“No, thank you,” he declined politely. “I think I shall be headin’ up. I’m too old for this now.”

She chuckled. “All right. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Annie.”

She watched him as she had Hosea, a gentle smile lingering.

_How nice..._

_Oh, you_ **_fool_ ** _._

Her smile fell as her chest twinged.

That had been it. That was how he brought people on board with his ideas; seduced them with kind words and charm, not as obviously as the villains she read about in all her books, but in a caring, gentle way... a way that had a person glowing at his good opinion.

_You stupid,_ **_stupid_ ** _fool._ **_Remember yourself_ ** _._

“Lord, bounty hunters can probably hear this racket from three states over.”

_Sadie. Good._

Turning her head to the woman as she sat beside her, balancing her rifle against the log, Ada offered her the bottle.

“Drink with me.”

Sadie arched an eyebrow as she stretched her legs out. “Nah.”

Ada pressed her lips together. “Come on, I don’t intend to get drunk for the first time in my life on my own.”

“You got these fools to do that with.”

Ada tilted her head, trying to imitate how Jack looked when he wanted some of Mary-Beth’s secret candy stash. “But you’re my favourite fool, Sadie.”

Sadie snorted, a smile breaking out. “Well, when you put it that way, I’ll sure as hell join you.” Despite her sarcastic retort, she did indeed take the bottle and have a long sip, wincing with a slight hiss after she’d swallowed. “God damn... Y’know, I ain’t been drunk in a long time, either.” A faintly mischievous expression covered her features. “How about a drinkin’ game?”

“I’ve never played one,” Ada admitted, accepting the bottle back.

“All right...” Sadie pushed her braid over her shoulder as she sat up, glancing around before she nodded over Ada’s shoulder. “How about we see who can throw a rock in to that pot from a distance?”

Ada couldn’t stop a snort. “That sounds easy enough.”

Sadie just smiled. “If you don’t get it in, you got to take a shot of whisky.”

The auburn-haired woman rose to her feet, looking vaguely smug. “Well, I’ve got rather good aim so I certainly don’t think I’ll be getting drunk for the first time tonight.”

* * *

"... _we are the boys of Wexford! Who fought with heart and hand, to burst in twain the galling chain, and free our native land!”_

_Ad_ a grinned at Uncle as they threw their arms up into the air and continued, half-singing, half-yelling, “ _To burst in twain the galling chain, and free our native la-and~!_ ”

The group broke out into whoops, claps and cheers even before they’d finished the extended note and Uncle finally dropped his hands and descended into a coughing fit whilst Ada, still beaming, flourished into a bow so low she had to take a step forward to stop herself from toppling over.

“Thank you s’ much!” she called out over their adoring audiences’ cheers as she straightened, now having to take a step back to steady herself. “Thank you, thank you!”

Her aim hadn’t been as good as she herself had believed. Stones had bounced off the pot, gone slightly over or under, and nowhere near it. Sadie, comfortingly, was only a little better so it hadn’t taken long for the bottle to be emptied, and nearly another one. 

Falling down into her seat beside Sadie, she turned her head to the woman who beamed back.

“Jus’ wonderful, Annie, so good.”

“Annie, y—...” Her head swung to the side to look at Lenny to her right. “... You sing so _good_.”

“Oh, thank you, I jus’, I love singin’.”

“So do I, it’s so—”

“Look, they’re back!” Susan, who hadn’t had one drink, called out, pointing to the main path.

Bloodshot, squinting and glazed over eyes watched as Javier, Strauss, Trelawney and Arthur dismounted their horses, Kieran nearly tripping over his own feet to get to them.

Bill, who, after finishing his watch with Charles taking over, had quickly caught up with Karen where alcohol was concerned, stood, holding his arms out. “Gen’lemen! How was the misshon?”

“We’re still alive,” Arthur drawled, stroking Ophelia’s neck before he brushed the dust from the sleeves of his smart jacket.

“A success, I think,” Trelawney added positively, beaming at them all as they neared the group.

“Good! Come ‘nd celebrate with us, then.”

“Been havin’ your own little party, huh?” Arthur arched an eyebrow as he pushed his hands into his pockets, a smile beginning to form as he looked over all of them.

“Yeah, we though’ why should you have all the fun?” Lenny called out, drawing Arthur’s attention, and then his gaze landed on her.

_Well, Miss Ada..._

Ada grinned as the returning heroes settled amongst the group and Arthur moved behind them towards her, his smile widening.

“Hello.”

“Hullo,” she answered, her gaze sweeping over him and finally taking in his attire. He was in three-piece suit, one she preferred much more to the one he’d worn at the party, and his hair was shorter, neater, slicked back with pomade. His stubble was gone, too. Pushing herself up and stepping over the log to stand in front of him, she swayed a little as she folded her arms. “God, you look handsome. I mean, you always look handsome but I can see your _face_ and it’s nice.”

Her hand went to his cheek, nearly involuntarily slapping him lightly with the unchecked momentum, caressing his smooth skin.

He chuckled, arching an eyebrow as he watched her, his hand settling on her lower back. “Josiah thought I better clean up to make a real impression.”

"An’ did you?”

“Yeah, I’d say I did.” The full story of their escapade could wait until the morning.

“Oh, _good_.” She’d continued to stroke his skin, her fingers finding their way to his neck, curling around to the nape.

“So, how’re you feelin’?” He tipped his head to the side slightly, one corner of his mouth rising higher than the other. Her smile hadn’t dropped once.

“Wonderful.” She closed her eyes for a moment to emphasise her conclusion. “Absolutely wonderful. I feel like...” Her other hand clenched in mid-air slightly as she searched for the right words. “... I just feel good. It’s all fine.”

"That’s good.” His fingers gently stroked at her back, holding her against him.

“Yes, it is.” Her teeth grazed over her lower lip as mischievousness crossed her features, her voice lowering. “Not as good as you make me feel, though.”

“ _Miss Sawyer._..” Imitating her scandalised tone from earlier, a wide grin spread across his lips.

“Oh, shut your mouth,” she whispered, grinning in delight at herself, “like you said, everybody knows.” As if to prove her newfound nonchalance at their relationship, her arms draped around his shoulders. “Karen’s been tryin’ to get details out of me but I haven’t said a word.” A yawn suddenly rose from her, her stream of thought changing. “Christ, I’m tired.”

“Mmh, well, we didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“No, we did _not_.”

Lord, she was... His own smile hadn’t faltered either.

“Come on, then, Miss Sawyer.” Sliding his arm around her waist as he turned, Arthur gently guided her towards the house, the rest of the camp too engrossed in listening to Josiah’s magnificent retelling of their mission to pay attention to them.

It was surprisingly easy, and quiet enough, to get her into the house and up the stairs, her body leaning against his as a few more yawns escaped her. Reaching the top, he glanced habitually through the hole in the wall to see Jack and Abigail sleeping. Ada did the same, smiling fondly; both of them had retired, unwillingly in Jack’s case, a couple of hours earlier.

Opening the door to his room, he finally released her, hearing her step away as he closed the door. When he turned back to her, he took a few moments to just watch, it only a little difficult in the dark.

She yawned again, releasing a soft sound with it, and placed her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. She started at the table covered in various kinds of ammunition, her nose wrinkling slightly, before she moved to the smaller table, gazing down at a map of the land he’d drawn out himself, a smile pulling at her lips, her finger tips brushing over his drawings. He thought he saw her mouth the names of a few places.

Then, she looked to him, clasping her hands behind her back as she smirked faintly.

“Are you goin’ to ravage me again, Mr Morgan?”

He smiled softly, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it onto the nearest chair. “Not tonight, Miss Sawyer.”

“Are you sure?” she countered, arching an eyebrow as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, it joining the jacket.

He chuckled quietly, unbuttoning his dress shirt. “What did I say, Miss Adaline, insatiable...”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she murmured coyly as she kept her eyes on him.

Dropping the shirt onto the chair as he passed it, Arthur stopped before her and caught her chin between his fingers gently, tipping her head back and capturing her lips in a tender kiss. She hummed softly, her hands settling on his bare chest, sliding up to his shoulders a few moments after. His other arm wrapped around her waist, and he began to walk her backwards.

When the backs of her calves touched the side of the bed, she sank down and he leaned over, keeping his lips pressed to hers as her hands cupped his face. Then, he straightened, his hands sliding into his pockets as her’s fell into her lap, a smile pulling at his lips.

She caught on a moment later, her eyes narrowing.

“Mhm, seducin’ me into bed but not out of my clothes. _Very_ clever, Mr Morgan, you really aren’t as dumb as they say.”

He chuckled as she lay back with a muttered grumble, rolling over to face the wall.

He so wanted to. Part of him felt like he _needed_ to. To be back with her was... He hadn’t thought that the mission would go wrong, but it was the first time in a very, very long time that a quiet voice had whispered to him, _‘You have to survive this night_ ’. Removing his shoes and running a hand through his hair to get rid of some of the pomade, he pushed the shoes aside and settled down on the bed behind her, his arm going around her as his chin rested on top of her head.

In order for both of them to fit, she had to be nestled perfectly against him, every inch of her pressed against him, and it was so comforting.

“This is smaller than the bed in Saint Denis,” she mumbled, her tiredness having caught up with her swiftly.

Yeah, it is,” he murmured, closing his eyes as his thumb brushed over her skin.

“Mmh... Cosier, though.”

“Yep.”

“Was this your plan all along?”

“My plan was to get you safe and horizontal before you fell over.”

She snorted. “How dare you, I have wond’ful balance.”

“Sure you do.”

She grumbled under her breath again, too tired to fully vocalise her retort, and he closed his eyes with a faint smile as, only a minute or so later, her breathing evened out and he knew she was asleep.

It felt... nice, to hold her. It wasn’t a grand enough expression for it but that’s what it was. It had gotten so familiar and so easy so fast and he didn’t mind at all. He didn’t want complicated. Christ, she was complicated enough on her own. 

_Stop thinkin’ too damn much._

His chin rested upon her head, his own eyes closing, and he just listened to her breathing, feeling the warmth of her.

* * *

He awoke the next morning in exactly the same position, hair in his mouth and an elbow digging into his ribs. Being very careful to move so as to not wake her, he glanced down at her. Nah, she was dead to the world, her mouth open, her breathing even. He could’ve fired a gun and she probably wouldn’t move. Smiling, he gently moved her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear before he stood.

Stepping out of the open front doors and onto the porch, he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up as he surveyed the camp. Everyone seemed rather sluggish, either from their revelry the night before or the heat of the morning. It was probably the warmest morning they’d had so far, he could already feel beads of sweat forming on his brow.

_Maybe I do miss the snow a bit._

Stepping down onto the dirt, he headed for Pearson’s fire pit, seeking coffee.

_God knows she’ll need it._

Sadie passed him and he grinned and nodded at her. She just grunted, feeling as bad as she looked. She already had coffee and was taking continuous sips of it. Shaking his head, he respected the small queue that had formed for the liquid of life and clasped his hands together.

“Good mornin’, Lenny!”

“Oh, _don’t_ , Arthur...”

Sadie made her way onto the porch, her head pounding. Taking a seat, she sat back and closed her eyes, gripping her cup. A groan came from within the house, growing closer. Cracking an eye open, Sadie watched Annie step out, her features scrunched up, squinting and trying to shield her eyes from the brightness of the sun.

"Oh, God...” she heard her murmur.

“Hey,” Sadie greeted, her voice hoarse.

Turning her head slowly, Annie looked at her. “I feel like I’ve been hit over the head with several bricks.”

“Unfortunately, first time gettin’ drunk comes with first time feelin’ like you might actually die.”

Annie just groaned her agreement as she sat in a chair beside her, leaning back and closing her eyes, gripping the armrests. Sadie was delighted her friend didn’t feel like chatting. Though, when she felt more like a human being, they’d certainly have a lot to catch up on if camp rumours and plain observation was anything to go by.

“Mornin’, ladies.”

They both just made vague sounds as Arthur approached, a cup in each hand. Smiling, he gently touched Ada on the shoulder with a finger and handed her a cup when she opened her eyes. Mouthing her thanks, she sipped from it as Arthur leaned against the house, sliding a hand into his pocket.

“How was your night?” Sadie asked, her curiosity overcoming her throat’s desire for silence.

“Fine. Eventful.”

“Sounds like it was,” she snorted, then immediately regretted it as her head ached.

She was about to ask another question when Dutch appeared from within the darkness of the house, leaning out. “Arthur, if I could have you for a moment.”

Arthur nodded, looked at the two women to smile at them, found them both sitting back with their eyes closed and probably semi-conscious, and shook his head, smiling to himself as he followed after the older man.

“When you gonna let me come out robbin’ with you, Dutch?” Sadie called out, sipping from her coffee.

She heard Dutch laugh. “God, few more like her...” The rest of his response was lost as they moved further into the house.

The two women sat in silence, just drinking their coffee and waiting for it to work its magic. The usually peaceful sounds of nature, birds chirping and crickets trilling, were now just grating, and towards the back of the house they could hear Cain barking and Jack giggling. Sadie’s eyes cracked open again as the sounds grew louder, Jack chasing after Cain and coming round to the front.

Exhaling a long breath, she glanced at Annie, who could as well have been dead from how still she was. 

“Maybe you and me should go out robbin’, I reckon we’d be just fine,” Ada heard Sadie say. Peeling her eyes open, she glanced at her, the throbbing in her head now slightly better.

“I think we would, too.” Oh, Lord, her voice sounded like she’d been yelling for hours. Which she had, nearly.

“If you could rob anythin’ righ’ now, what’d it be?”

Ada inhaled a slow breath, her eyebrows raising slightly. “Goodness, I’ve never thought about that before.”

“I ain’t sayin’ we’re gonna, just what would you pick if you had to.”

Ada scratched her head before leaning it against her hand, her elbow propped on the armrest. “Uh... Probably a house. I think it might be easy. There’d be different things to take, too, money, jewellery, guns.”

Sadie nodded, stretching her legs out, her hands on her stomach. “Yeah, that’s a good one. I think a train would be excitin’, too.”

“A lot to think about, though, and dangerous.” Ada found herself smiling, enjoying the image her mind created of them both holding up a whole train. Sadie could probably do it single-handedly.

“Yeah, but excitin’.”

Ada opened her mouth to respond when she felt Sadie pause in the same moment she did, looking up the main path.

“What the hell...” Sadie muttered.

Realisation dawned on them as Mary-Beth screamed.

“ _It’s Kieran!_ ”

Kieran’s body, his decapitated head resting in his lap, sat astride his favourite horse, the horse walking idly down the main path. All anyone could do was stare, the scene not sinking in. And it didn’t have time to.

“ _Everybody take cover! O’Driscoll boys are comin’!_ ” Dutch yelled from the balcony above a split second before men emerged from the bushes and began to fire.

Sadie and Ada lunged forward, their cups tumbling to the floor, using the columns before them as cover as people began shouting and barking orders to each other.

“ _Jack!_ ” Ada heard Abigail scream and her heart dropped into her stomach as she looked out and saw the boy running past the fountain, terrified. She was about to surge towards him when John suddenly appeared, sweeping the boy up into his arms and racing forward, hiding them both behind the stacks of sandbags beside Charles who was firing back at the attacking men.

“Shit,” she hissed as her gaze darted across the porch. She’d come down without a weapon, a grave mistake. 

Sadie had kept her’s beside her and was joining in the gunfight, cursing under her breath. All of them were firing back now and Ada, after counting to three, darted through the open doors behind her and grabbed the nearest gun, a Repeater, mercifully. Rejoining Sadie, she aimed and fired at the group of men. She couldn’t ascertain how many of them were there but for every one that was downed, another replaced him. 

O’Driscolls. She should have known they’d come sooner or later.

“God damn O’Driscolls...” Sadie hissed, echoing her thoughts, but before she could respond Dutch was yelling again.

“ _Women and children inside! The rest of you, hold your ground!_ ”

Then Arthur was suddenly there, ducking behind the column on the other side of the steps. “Get inside!” he shouted as Susan, Karen, Strauss, Tilly and Mary-Beth ran inside. Charles and Javier covering, John ran to Abigail, handing her Jack and pushing them towards the house. They made it inside as John returned to his post without looking back.

“Don’t let anyone back through that door!” Arthur shouted to her and Sadie, both of them nodding as they reloaded.

He ran to where John was and said something to him, before turning his head and saying something to Charles. He nodded and shouted to Javier. Arthur shouted something she couldn’t hear to Bill, Micah and Pearson. They all looked up, though, as a wagon came rolling down the path, filled with O’Driscolls.

“We’re overwhelmed!” she heard John shout as they all began to fall back towards the house.

“We’re overrun!” Charles shouted in the same moment.

“What in God’s name is goin’ on?!” Arthur yelled.

Ada and Sadie covered them as they retreated, her heart pounding. The O’Driscolls in turn were just moving closer, boldly. The men headed in to the house, then John, and Arthur looked to the two women.

“Come on, inside!”

“Everyone get inside!” she heard Charles shout from beside him.

They obeyed after a moment and Arthur and Charles followed them in, the last. As soon as they were all inside, he, John, Javier and Karen began to barricade the door, pushing and pulling the nearest furniture towards it. 

“Everyone stay calm,” Dutch was saying as everyone kept low. The bullets from outside didn’t stop, and Ada heard a window in another room shatter. Once the door was barricaded, Dutch began to give instructions of posts they should go to. Waiting for her name, Ada then felt Sadie nudge her.

“Come on, this way,” she murmured, heading out of the room. Ada glanced at Dutch, who was too busy giving orders to notice them, and followed.

She followed her to the left, moving past Hosea’s room and out of the side door. A glance to her left showed her the O’Driscolls had some common sense and were keeping some distance. Fortunately, Sadie went right. Keeping low, they ran along the side of the house and—

“Watch out!” Sadie’s arm flinging out to halt her made her head whip up and she saw them.

More O’Driscolls. Coming from the south path. Coming from across the river. Firing. Making bullets fly over their heads and by her shoulder.

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

Sadie surged forward.

* * *

_What the_ **_fuck_ ** _are they doin’ here and why are there so many of ‘em?_

The last time the O’Driscolls had been this bold they’d kidnapped him and Ada. The time before that they’d killed Annabelle.

Was this it? The final battle between them? Why now, though, and how had they found out where they were?

_Bronte._

It hit him like a fucking train.

Bronte must have spoken to him after the party, hell, Bronte more than likely knew they were staying here, but _why_ cause all this? Something wasn’t adding up.

_Ada._

Had Colm come just for her? Well, not _just_ for her, but... Had the confirmation that she was still with the Van der Linde Gang been too much of an insult?

“Is everyone accounted for?” he called to John a few feet away, both of them firing out of windows.

“I think so,” John answered, distracted and for good reason; the men didn’t seem to stop coming.

“Sadie? Annie?” Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t heard Dutch say their names to give them instructions.

John just shrugged.

Pressing his lips together, Arthur moved to the window to his right, breaking it and firing out. An O’Driscoll was yelling something taunting and he swiftly silenced him, when he heard a scream.

Not of pain. Of fury.

His jaw clenching, he called to John, ”That’s Mrs Adler, she’s still out there!”

Knowing John would cover him, the men finally starting to thin out, he leapt out of the window and crouched at the railing. The cry had come from somewhere behind the shack before him, obscured. With his gang members firing at the remaining men behind him, Arthur leapt over the railing and ran. He could hear grunts of pain and Sadie yelling.

“Who the fuck’s this lady?!” he heard a man demand before there was another grunt and what sounded like a body falling to the floor. Rounding the shack, his breath caught in his throat.

Sadie was throttling a man, her features twisted in rage as she yelled savagely. The man’s eyes were wide as he clawed at her arms but she was driving him back, shoving him against the shack before he could recover enough to do something. Ada was stood with her back to them, firing at anyone approaching, protecting her friend. Her features were tight, and she never missed. 

Sadie released another wild sound and drove a knife into the man’s neck. Neither he nor Arthur had seen where she’d procured it from. The man, his eyes bulging, fell to his knees, but Sadie just fell with him and struck him again, and again, and again, plunging the knife into his chest, throat, stomach. Then she wrenched it out and stood, breathing heavily.

Arthur looked between them as Sadie stood over him, blood on her face and clothes, and Ada shot the last two men approaching.

“Why the _hell_ didn’t you both get inside?!”

“And miss all this?” Sadie drawled, glancing at him as she searched the man’s body for anything useful.

Before he could respond, Sadie had turned and was jogging away. “Come on, you two!”

He caught Ada’s eye and she pressed her lips together. They both followed.

“Now we go back!” Arthur called after her. “We need you both back in the house!”

Ada’s gun firing drew his attention and he joined her, shooting the men that approached from a boat on the river.

_How the_ **_hell_ ** _do they know how to get to us?_

“Get down!” Ada yelled and he ducked as bullets from the right flew over their heads. More men.

Ada was behind a large crate, he dove behind a tree and Sadie... Sadie was damn near out in the open, hurling insults and calls as she fired. Her head whipping to the side as they finished dealing with the oncoming men, she then ran towards the house.

“Come on, they need us!”

He heard Ada hiss out something but she rose and ran after Sadie. He reloaded as he followed. O’Driscolls had circled the back of the house and were trying to get in, but John was still firing from within and doing a damn good job, as were Karen and Abigail from the upper level. With Sadie’s, Arthur’s and Ada’s help, the men didn’t stand much of a chance.

They had got the upper-hand. Damned if he knew how, but they had.

_Maybe Sadie and Ada’s jaunt back here weren’t such a bad idea after all._

“Die, why don’t ya,” he heard Sadie say as they neared the house, her casual tone sending a slight chill down his spine.

_I hope I never piss her off._

He ran ahead of Ada, wanting to advance on the men and see how the others were doing towards the front. Then, the side door burst open from the force of two men tangled in a fight and he raised his gun. Luckily, it was Charles who had the advantage. Arthur passed him as he plunged his knife into the man’s neck. Two men appeared suddenly from around the front of the house and he shot them, or believed he had at least; Ada was beside him once more, firing.

“Follow me!” he heard Dutch say from somewhere as Charles and Sadie joined them.

“Come on, Charles!” Sadie said, racing ahead.

At the top of the main path there were a group of men, using a wagon as cover. They joined Sadie at the sandbags. He fired and fired until he needed to reload, but he needn’t have bothered, really; Sadie and Charles were doing a fine job and from the silence behind him these seemed to be the last of them.

There was silence to his right, too. Glancing at Ada, he found her just crouched there, holding her gun at her side, her eyes darting between the remaining men.

A bullet passed over his head and he returned his attention to the priority. Firing at the three men left, watching them fall from one or all of their bullets, there was then no one else. They all paused. Waited. 

Rising, Arthur wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Cowards!” Dutch spat from behind him and they all stood, keeping a grip on their weapons.

“We okay?” Hosea asked, stepping down from the front porch, sounding a little out of breath.

“I think so,” Dutch answered, looking between everyone for confirmation as they regrouped. Then, he looked down at one of the bodies on the floor. “... ‘cept for Kieran here.” He shook his head. “Poor kid. Mr Swanson, would you take this boy and bury him, someplace near but not too near.”

Arthur felt someone at his side, and he glanced at Ada again. She was looking at the decapitated body, expressionless.

“Of course,” Swanson was saying, rather dazed, “Charles, help me with the body.”

“We need to get this place cleaned up,” Hosea said as he lifted the boy’s head. “Mr Pearson, Miss Grimshaw—”

“Already taking care of it!” Susan called, before directing a pale Mary-Beth and a weary Tilly to the side of the house. “Come on now, work!” she added to the rest of them.

Everyone moved, picking up the nearest bodies to them, dragging them somewhere. They’d done this before.

Ada stood for a moment, then turned sharply on her heel and followed after Susan. Arthur inhaled a breath, watching her, then moved closer to Dutch who was shaking his head as he surveyed the carnage with John.

“Colm O’Driscoll...”

“That man can really hate,” Arthur muttered, the only reason for this he was sure on. 

“So can I, Arthur,” the older man said, looking to him. “So can I. We need to get movin’. Away from _here_.”

“So we should start lookin’ for another camp?”

“You ain’t thinkin’ big enough, Arthur,” Dutch said, “You ain’t seein’ the vastness of our problems, and our opportunities.”

“I’m not sure I get you.”

“You will, son. You will.” Dutch patted his shoulder as he smiled. “Meet me near the trolley station once this has been cleared up, and bring Lenny!”

He watched him walk away, heading for his horse. John blew out a breath. Looking at him, Arthur then glanced at a body near them and raised his hand.

“Shall we?”

John sighed.

“Yep.”

* * *

After she’d asked, Susan had told her they’d collect all the bodies together and then dump them in the swamp for the alligators. Good. That gave her some time.

She didn’t recognise any of them, but... how could she know what Thomas would look like now? One had black hair and green eyes, but didn’t have curly hair, but maybe his curls would have gone with age. He’d be 29 now, he could have changed so much.

_If he even is fucking alive._

She looked to Sadie, who was searching the body of the man they’d just carried over to the growing pile, drenched in blood from how close she’d been to the men she’d killed. She’d practically been pressed against them, had probably felt the life leave them. Probably revelled in it. Should that be how she should be behaving? An unstoppable force in her want for revenge against O’Driscolls, in her search for the truth about Thomas?

“You want this?”

Pulled from her thoughts, she found Sadie offering her a gold pocket watch. “I got three.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She pocketed it.

_Maybe I could sell it and buy passage to the other side of the world._

Licking her lips as Sadie stood, she smiled lightly. “So... How’s about a warning next time, huh, Black Belle? Before you leap into action.”

Sadie laughed, sliding another ring she’d taken a shine to onto her finger. A trophy. “Ah, you did more than all right, lady.”

A familiar sharpness twisted at her stomach as she watched Sadie walk away to retrieve another body, smiling, wiping the blood from her face.

_Should that be how I am._

Arthur smiled as he saw Sadie, having come from the other side of the house.

“Easy, killer,” she heard him say to her, raising his hands slightly.

Sadie laughed again. “That’s rich from you.”

“Oh, I ain’t tryna rile you, believe me.” 

Sadie’s cackle carried on the wind as she disappeared from view, and Arthur met her gaze. His smile softened.

"You okay?” he asked as he neared, his hand settling on her arm gently.

She returned his smile. “Yeah. You?”

His brows raised for a moment as he nodded. “Fine, somehow.” His thumb stroked lightly. “I gotta go and see Dutch in town, look at this trolley thing he’s worked out—”

“Now?” She frowned.

“Yeah...” He paused for a moment, then smiled. “I won’t be long. I’ll see you after.”

She managed a smile, folding her arms. “Okay.”

_Ah, shit... There’s gonna be a conversation later._

“You did good today,” he murmured, squeezing her arm lightly.

“So did you.” Then she added, a corner of her mouth lifting a little, “Thank you for not dying.”

He exhaled a laugh. “Likewise.”

Lowering his head, he pressed a brief, firm kiss to her lips before turning and leaving.

Her smile faded as she watched him go, then her eyes dropped to the corpse Bill had just dragged over.

Searching.


	13. Unspeakable Acts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some scenes and dialogue have been taken word-for-word from the game.

_**I** _ _should be doing more._

She couldn’t shake the guilt.

_I should be combing the state. I should be pulling the land apart looking for him._

Fear was stopping her. Contentedness. Security. There wasn’t much of it in this new life of hers but the little that was there was enough to quell the potential possibility of uncertainty.

Why should the words of a known liar spur her in to action anyway?

_But what if he’s not lying._

She just couldn’t rid her mind of the circles she kept going in.

Staring into the murky water, Ada tried to picture for the hundredth time what her brother would even look like, all these years later. _Thirteen_ years later. Would he have changed his name? Would he even remember her?

_Why are you even thinking about this when he’s dead?_

_But what if he’s not._

Lifting her head with a long inhale, she banished the thoughts from her mind, or tried to. When she wasn’t working, when she wasn’t with Arthur, they were always there, sometimes loud, sometimes quiet.

Today was a loud day. The actions of the O’Driscolls only hours ago had brought them back into sharp focus.

She was tired, so tired, of the uncertainty, of the doubt. Should she just start looking for him, just for that tiny chance of ‘maybe’?

_But he is dead._

_But what if he’s not._

Again, back to the start.

The sound of cantering hooves down the main path was yet another welcome distraction.

Pushing herself up, Ada turned on the jetty and brushed the dirt off of her hands onto her thighs as she walked towards the three arrivals. Lenny, Dutch and Arthur slowed their horses and, as she approached, she very quickly realised something was wrong.

Dust and sweat covered them, there were bruises on their faces and Dutch had a nasty looking red mark on his forehead. Other members of the group gathered around them as they dismounted and were already asking what had happened so by the time her hands were cupping Arthur’s face, he was already explaining.

“There was an incident at the station. Angelo set us up. There was no money there, nothin’.”

Her heart dropped as she stared at him, Lenny taking over.

“The law turned up real quick. Probably had someone watchin’ the place, waitin’ for us.”

_Oh, fuck..._

“Dutch, are you all right?”

She finally looked away from searching Arthur’s features to look to their leader at Javier’s question. He definitely looked... off.

He smiled slightly. “I’m fine. Just took a knock to the head. A lie-down is all I need, that’s all.”

Lenny helped him towards the house, the group disbanding with murmurs and sympathetic noises.

Ada returned her gaze to Arthur’s. He was watching the older man, his mouth set in a thin line. Concerned.

Her hand dropped to take his.

“Come on,” she murmured, leading him to the side of the house.

He didn’t say a word, following her. She took him to the shack on the water at the back of the grounds, only releasing him when the shack blocked them from the view of the house. She spun, cupping his face again, and his hands went to her hips.

“Are you all right?” she said before he could speak.

Nodding, he exhaled a breath. “Yeah. I just... I knew it, I fuckin’ knew it wouldn’t go right.”

“Do you truly believe it was a set-up?”

“Yeah. Can’t be anythin’ else, Bronte owns the town.”

Her heart sank again, her stomach twisting as her hands moved to his chest.

“Arthur...”

“What? What is it?” he prompted when she didn’t continue after a moment.

She swallowed hard, her voice low. “What about what Angelo gave me, Arthur? About the bank? Could that be a set-up?”

He took a breath before shaking his head. “I don’t know. Probably not. Hosea had heard about it, too, and from someone not close to Bronte.”

“But Angelo gave them to me _specifically_ to give to Dutch, and now he very much appears to have set him up?” She shook her head, blowing out a breath. “Why do that if he’s his supposed friend?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

She wanted to go on, to figure it all out, to find an answer, but he looked so tired and worn out she managed to hold her tongue. Glancing towards the house, her fingers curled into his shirt.

Concerned lovers needing a few moments alone was good enough cover for peace but people were always milling about.

“Hey.”

Her gaze darted back to Arthur. Cupping her cheek, he smiled gently.

“It’ll be all righ’. Whatever happens, if somethin’ does, it’ll work out.”

There it was again, the blind faith. She didn’t want to get into another argument right now.

Returning his smile, she nodded. Then, rather than allowing lies to pass her lips, she raised her chin and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. His arm instantly wrapped around her lower back and pulled her closer.

He whispered beautiful words into her ear, his lips left a burning trail down her neck and his hands held her anchored to the moment.

She closed her eyes to the world.

* * *

He was gone the next morning.

Rolling over, she stretched her legs out, her arms wrapping around his pillow. She stared out of the window on the other side of the room. 

Thomas.

The bank.

Colm.

Dutch.

Her mind picked up the stream of anxieties she’d suppressed with Arthur’s help from the day before. They’d been shoved away by him insisting she read to him from the book, ‘ _you and Hosea won’t shut up about_ ’, in his room while he inspected his bruises and cleaned his guns and knives. Then had come the call for dinner and he’d made them sit beside Hosea so they could discuss the book, well, her and Hosea anyway; Arthur just watched them both, slightly bemused as they might as well have been speaking Latin. Then, they’d returned to his room and he’d insisted that she carry on reading because ‘ _I must be missin’ somethin’ about this Frankenstein feller_ ’, and so she had read to him as they lay on his bed, nestled together, his fingers idly playing with the ends of her hair. Then, she’d closed her eyes and the next thing she knew... Here she was. Awake.

She knew he’d orchestrated it all to distract her. That made her chest ache.

But he didn’t know the half of it. And here the thoughts were. Again.

She only had one conclusion; she didn’t know what to do.

So, she put a distance between the issues and herself, a barrier. _Delusional_ , wandered into her mind before she quickly dismissed it.

She took her breakfast with the girls, listening to Mary-Beth explain how wonderful the tailor’s in Saint Denis was, that they should all go, that a night out in the town with just them would be nice and exactly what they needed. No one could be bothered to argue that that would be ridiculous and risky. Mary-Beth needed her fantasies, anyway.

_She and I are like two of a kind._

It was a quiet day. Dutch was apparently still spending the day resting, not making an appearance. His lack of action seemed to slow down the general activity in camp, everyone staying close, besides Arthur, wherever he was, and Ada took the day to help the girls out with anything they needed. Later in the day, she took a watch with Sadie, delighted to laugh with the other woman and share a cake Sadie had bought in town.

“Oh, I missed cake,” Sadie groaned through a mouthful.

“Mmh, me, too,” Ada agreed, brushing crumbs from her mouth.

“I used to make ‘em as often as I could and me and Jake’d eat ‘em in a day. I could make damn good ones.”

“I’d be honoured to try one some day.”

Sadie snorted. “Sure, let’s go huntin’ in the bushes for an oven.”

Ada laughed, looking back towards the main path. “Hey, you never know what you could find out here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the locals would be very accommodatin’.” 

Sadie fell silent as Ada chuckled, tapping the butt of her rifle against the dirt. The silence lingered.

“I’m thinkin’ of goin’ off in a couple’a days.”

Ada’s gaze darted to her and she paused.

“Oh, really? Where would you be going?”

Sadie watched her. “I’m gonna go after the O’Driscolls. What remains of ‘em, anyway.”

Ada couldn’t help but pause again. Her mind raced. What could she say? It would be a waste of time to try and dissuade her from doing so, Sadie wasn’t the kind of woman you dissuaded from anything, but what else could she do? Encourage her? Should she be jumping at the chance to help her? Would Sadie be suspicious if she didn’t? Mercifully, Sadie continued after a moment.

“You’re more than welcome to join me.”

Not an order, just an invitation. A gentle invitation.

Ada smiled lightly.

“I’ll think about it.”

She’d deluded herself into thinking she could have just ignored her circumstances. Yet fate had dealt her a Sadie-shaped hand, and it—

“So...” Her eyes darted back to Sadie as the older woman spoke, her lips twitching. “... You gonna tell me about you and Arthur or what?”

Ada laughed, very much welcoming the relief it brought.

“Oh, Sadie...”

“Is that the sigh of a woman in love?”

Ada laughed again as she shook her head, looking down at her hands. “No, no... Just of a woman enjoying a certain situation she’s found herself in.”

“Well, good for you, lady. I ain’t known either of you long but I can tell you’re both happy.”

“Yeah, it’s something,” Ada smiled.

When Sadie left to hunt, the invitation rolled around in her mind for the rest of the evening until she forced herself to retreat to her bandstand, Arthur having not returned. Again, the invitation greeted her as her first thought of the day when she rose. Upon getting breakfast, she discovered Arthur must have returned some time in the night because there he was sat at the table with Dutch and Hosea. They were deep in conversation so she didn’t disturb them or even try to catch his eye, instead opting to take her bowl of porridge and sit on the jetty, watching fish swirl about in the water.

_‘You’re more than welcome to join me.’_

_I should._

_I don’t want to._

And there it was. That thought, that ugly, cowardly thought, that had burrowed into the back of her mind and no matter how hard she tried it just wouldn’t go.

“So, guess what I saw last night.”

She nearly dropped her bowl at the sound of his voice and boots behind her.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Arthur...”

He chuckled as she narrowed her eyes at him, taking a seat beside her.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t realise you’d lost your edge.”

“I was just very much enjoying my breakfast.”

_Another lie to add to the mountain of them._

“Sure, Pearson’s porridge is just _that_ good.” Lighting a cigarette, he shook the match out as he grinned at her. “C’mon, though, guess.”

Raising her eyebrows, she shrugged. “I have no idea, enlighten me.”

“An alligator.”

If her eyebrows could have risen any higher, they would have. “... An alligator? You do know we are _surrounded_ by them here?”

He chuckled. “Nah, not just any alligator, darlin’, it was the biggest alligator I’ve ever seen in my life, probably that _anyone’s_ ever seen.”

“Right, and what were you doing out seeing a big alligator?”

“We were securin’ a boat, me and Dutch.” He continued as she frowned, “So we can get over to Bronte’s.”

She set her bowl down. “You’re going to Bronte’s? Why?”

A corner of Arthur’s mouth lifted slightly. “Seems Dutch’s taken the trolley incident very personally.” 

She stared at him. “What’s he going to do with him?”

Arthur shrugged. “The aim is to get some pay-back. Rob him.”

“Right.”

She knew it would be patronising and would take their conversation down a route she certainly didn’t want to go if she pointed out how well guarded the place would be.

“I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come.”

She blinked. “Do I want to go with you and rob Angelo Bronte?”

He nodded, taking a long inhale from his cigarette.

She was about to politely decline, wanting nothing else to do with the man, when it hit her.

_I could get answers._

_He could be keeping correspondences. There could be information on Colm’s whereabouts._

_Sh_ e grazed her teeth over her lower lip, 

“Do you know what, Arthur Morgan...” He grinned as she smiled. “I think I’d very much like to come and rob Angelo Bronte.”

* * *

They went that night.

The boat barely made a sound in the water. Thomas, a man Dutch somehow seemed to know who lived in the heart of the swamp land, was good, his staff barely disturbing the surface as he pushed them along.

It had been an interesting place to disembark from, Lagras; a collection of shacks and jettys and mud that might have possibly passed as a very small village. They had ridden out there together, she, Arthur, John, Dutch, Lenny and Bill, and left their horses tied to a post outside Thomas’s shack. Thomas had emerged from within, a wide, warm smile on his face that had her warming to him instantly, despite a sightly bizarre joke he’d made about how pleased he was ‘The Night Folk’ hadn’t got them. They’d just laughed politely. People and their fairy tales.

Ada sat beside Bill in the boat, half-listening to him protest that he had _never_ said he was a sharp-shooter in the Army. She half heard Dutch retort with glee that, _‘ah, yes, he’d been ‘the nation’s most loyal latrine digger’_. She blocked them out as Arthur laughed and Bill got high and mighty about his service.

She had no idea of the layout of the mansion, no idea how many rooms there were or where Bronte could possibly hide. That didn’t matter, though, it wasn’t like they were going to sneak in and have the chance to run around finding him. They’d go in guns blazing, use the element of surprise. Did Dutch even know how many men would be guarding the place? No. The element of surprise and gumption trumped that, apparently.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her back to the boat.

“Hm?”

Turning, she found Dutch smiling at her.

“I was just sayin’, Miss Annie, that Arthur should never leave love aside ‘cause it’s all we got, ain’t that right?”

She glanced from him to Arthur, then back again. “I think so, Dutch.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Dutch exhaled a breath as he nodded. “All we got is the love for each other.”

Glancing at Arthur again, his eyebrows raising slightly, she then returned her gaze to the front, hoping she hadn’t missed something vital.

Soon, the lights in the distance grew brighter, and she could just make out the shore, barely able to discern the muddiness of it from the murky water. They all bar Thomas stepped out, Dutch whispering to him where they would meet. Thomas wished them luck as they made their way up the bank, crouched.

“Come on, quick, stay quiet,” Dutch hissed to them as they neared a high stone wall.

He seemed... almost impatient. Jittery and excited all in one. As if this was some prank they were going to play. She didn’t know what this was going to be; she just needed time and the powers that be on her side.

She didn’t know how they were actually going to get—

Bill, Lenny, Dutch and John leapt up, gripped the top of the wall, and began to hoist themselves up and over, groaning. Her lips parted, she looked from them, to Arthur. A corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other as he arched an eyebrow.

“You need a hand?”

“Yes, I think I bloody do.”

Chuckling under his breath, he laced his fingers together and crouched slightly. Shouldering her Repeater and stepping into his hand, her arms above her head, he then pushed her up and she grabbed the top of the wall. Gritting her teeth, the wall scraping against her forearms slightly, very grateful she decided to wear trousers, Ada heaved herself over. She dropped down on the other side, Arthur following a moment after. She glanced at him, his smile lingering as he passed her, caressing her back gently. They joined the other men at a large crate, kneeling.

“Lenny, Bill, you’re with me,” Dutch murmured, gesturing behind himself at the stairs, “Arthur, John, Annie, you take the left side. If you see a shot, you take it. Okay?” He smiled as they all nodded. “All right, then. Good luck, gentlemen and lady.”

Ada gave him a smile as he met her gaze, inclining his head.

_Thank you, my liege._

As they all turned away, she followed close behind Arthur and John, keeping low against the stone wall. They didn’t speak, moving swiftly and quietly along to a small set of stairs. Heading up them, at the top it opened out onto the back garden, beautifully trimmed hedges and clean stone tiles spanning out, with stone statues and fountains here and there. Small hanging lights on them illuminated some of their way, and ahead of them lay the house, grand and huge and imposing.

Suddenly, John, leading the way, gestured they go to their left and they ducked behind whatever was closest, spotting two heavily armed guards up ahead. Licking her lips, Ada adjusted her grip on her Repeater. Just when exactly would the element of surprise—

Gun fire rang out, echoing across the stone garden.

Her head whipping to the side, she saw John and Arthur, having half-risen, shooting over the tops of their chosen covers. She could hear Lenny, Bill and Dutch firing from their near adjacent position, too. She hadn’t heard a guard call out so one of them must have taken the first shot. From John’s expression, she would have put her money on him. Rolling her shoulders, she leaned out and joined them.

The guards were yelling at each other in Italian, fumbling slightly in their effort to respond quickly. Hell, maybe the element of surprise and gumption really was all they needed.

John advanced forward, Arthur behind him and she followed; it seemed the guards would not have much time to try and respond at all.

“We’re comin’ for you, Bronte!” Dutch called out tauntingly as the two groups drew nearer. “Send out every man you’ve got!”

They were rounding the largest fountain at the centre of the garden and nearing the stairs that led towards the great house. Guards fired down at them from the porch and balcony above but their little group were better shots and had better cover.

“Just give up, you bastards! It’s over!” John yelled, and she _knew_ it must have been him to fire first. The hatred that must be coursing through this father’s veins for these men.

“You crossed the wrong man, Bronte!” Dutch added.

_You, or John, I wonder._

Both of them and Arthur were barely taking cover, unlike she, Lenny and Bill who were using the statues. Bullets flew over their heads as guards shot blindly, trying to quickly take over from the men before them who had fallen. It was all so loud, how the hell would they get this done before the law invaded the place?

She didn’t have time to think about that.

She shot at the men coming out of the doors, her heart pounding; she didn’t know when this had become easy, when it had suddenly become shoot, kill, on to the next, shoot, kill, on to the next.

Maybe when she’d accepted it was ‘ _us or them_ ’.

Guards were still calling out from the balcony but now no one was coming to replace them, and the porch was empty.

Dutch realised it in the same moment she did. “This is not over yet! Head to the house!”

The men surged forward but she stayed behind, firing at the last three men on the balcony. Once the last man had fallen to the wooden boards, she pushed herself up and jogged across the small space to the stairs, climbing up them. The men hadn’t gone inside yet and she glanced to Arthur to frown at him when John shot the lock with his shotgun.

_Ah._

“Good! Now kick that damn door in!”

Arthur obeyed Dutch, striking at the heavy doors with his boot and they flew open, crashing against the interior walls of the house.

“Look out!” he called as a guard darted into the hallway that lay before them, firing in their direction. They pressed against the exterior walls as Arthur knelt and shot him, his body falling heavily.

Another man appeared from the other side of the hallway and it was Lenny who got him, reaching out and firing. She peered round, wanting to see what the layout was like.

Her stomach dropped. The place was _huge_. A room to their left and a hallway, a room beyond that, rooms beyond _that,_ _and_ ahead of them, it was so _vast_. And, with all the noise and for all they knew, Bronte could have escaped by now. Where the _hell_ would they begin searching. 

That thought either hadn’t crossed their minds or it had and didn’t deter them, for the men surged in, shooting instantly as Bronte’s men began to run out of the many rooms.

There were archways everywhere so they couldn’t even hide behind doors, it was just a matter of shoot first before you were shot.

“Bunch of God damn jokers!” Bill yelled as they split up without conferring, dodging into rooms and dealing with any men that stood within them. “I’ll kill you all!”

Ada followed behind Arthur and John who had moved ahead into what must have been the central room of the house, a marble-floored foyer with a staircase to her right and a—

_Staircase._

Glancing at Arthur and John, both of them distracted by the front doors suddenly bursting open and two guards appearing, she darted across to the stairs and moved up them swiftly.

Foolish to go up on her own? Probably, but logic told her Bronte was a man who hid and sent his men out to protect him. No, he wouldn’t have left yet; he was too arrogant for that. Her heart pounding, once she’d made it to a small landing and turned to take a shorter set of stairs up, she slowed, keeping against the wall. There was no movement up here, none that she could hear anyway.

Silence suddenly came from the floor below as she made it to the next floor.

“All right, let’s spread out, he’s hiding somewhere!” she heard Dutch call out.

Shit, she’d need to move quicker.

She looked left, then right. There were doors every few feet apart. _How_ could a place have so many fucking rooms? The hallways didn’t even have dead-ends, either, that she could see, anyway, they just turned and went on.

_Fucking hell,_ **_think_**...

Something moved in her peripheral vision. Turning her head to the left, a man appeared from a room, two revolvers raised. Gritting her teeth, she was a second quicker, firing at him and sending him stumbling back with a loud groan.

“Who’s up there?” Dutch.

“Annie?” Arthur.

She was running out of time.

“Lenny, keep that door covered!” Arthur again.

“Bronte must be up there, let’s go!” Dutch, excited.

_Pick a God damn door._

She didn’t need to.

The door before her opened and a man stepped out, snarling, but, over his shoulder, she saw him, darting out of sight. Dodging to the side, she grabbed the man’s arm, shoving it away so his bullet struck the wall behind her. She could hear them coming up the stairs behind her as she shoved the man against the door-jamb, grabbed his revolver from his hands and used his surprise to shove him behind her. He stumbled and fell down the stairs, making Bill call out as he came to an abrupt halt. She got to see his disgruntled expression just before she closed the door and—

Pain spread throughout her right arm as a bullet slid against her bicep, tearing the skin open, and buried into the door. Gasping, she instinctively spun and dropped into a crouch as a tall man aimed his gun at her again. Raising the revolver, she fired at him, her bullet tearing through his stomach. As he hit the ground heavily, she almost didn’t hear Arthur calling out, their footsteps close to the door.

“Annie?!”

Gunshots suddenly sounded from the hallway, though; more men must have been hiding. Gritting her teeth and ignoring both the sounds and the pain of her arm, Ada pushed herself up; she had to use all the time she was given.

The small alcove she was in opened out into a beautifully furnished bedroom, but there was only one way to go. Dropping her repeater and moving the revolver to her right hand, she rounded the large bed, heading to the closed door opposite. She could hear movement within. Taking a breath and adjusting her grip on the gun, she then gripped the doorknob and shoved the door open, the revolver raised.

Angelo Bronte greeted her, stood in a bathtub at the back of a marvellous bathroom, in a beautiful nightcap, robe, trousers and slippers... and a gun raised.

Her breath caught as he snarled and pulled the trigger... but no bullet came out.

Her heart thudding against her ribcage, anger swept over her and all fear left as he pulled the trigger again and nothing happened. He spat out a short word in Italian, most likely a curse, and hurled the gun at her. Ducking easily, her jaw clenched, she rose up and strode towards him.

His demeanour changed instantly, his hands raising as he stepped out of the tub.

“Okay, okay, _signorina_ , let’s just—”

Gripping the lapels of his robe, she tugged him forward and pressed the barrel of the gun against his temple.

“Where is Colm now?” she asked, a distant part of her marvelling at how cold her own voice sounded.

Bronte exhaled a slightly shaking but still amused laugh. “Oh, _Signorina_ O’Driscoll, you cannot be serious?”

She struck his temple with the butt of the revolver.

He fell out of her grip as she loosened it on him with a cry, gripping his head with one hand. Looking up at her from the floor, he spat what were no doubt insults at her in Italian, his features twisted in rage.

“Where is Colm, Bronte?” she asked again, her calm voice cutting through his tirade.

He laughed. “Like I would tell you, what are you going to do to me if I don’t, huh? I know killers, _Signorina_ O’Driscoll, and you are not one.”

A faceless voice entered her mind.

_Would you kill for Thomas?_

Yes. Yes, she would, even after all this time. Even with the possibility of it being in vain.

She struck him again. The gun cracked against his cheek this time, and he fell onto his back, hissing and cursing at her again.

“Oh, I’ve killed, Bronte, I’ve just never enjoyed it before,” she said, stepping closer to him. “ _Where is he?_ ”

He snarled again, staring up at her. “I’m not going to tell you, you fucking whore cunt, you are nothing, you don’t matter, you have nothing—”

She realised a second later that she’d done it.

She aimed the barrel at his head, drew the hammer back and lay her finger on the trigger.

He cut off from his tirade abruptly, freezing.

Rage coursed through her but she stood just as still as he was.

“Tell me where he is,” she said, so quietly.

He was silent for a moment. Then, he smiled.

“No.”

The final test.

_For Thomas._

The final thing Angelo Bronte would see before he descended to hell would be her, standing over him, the barrel of the gun pointed between his eyes like he was an animal, a cold—

The bedroom door burst open. 

Both she and Bronte jolted as Arthur and John surged in, their guns raised. The four of them stared at each other, then John smiled as he lowered his shotgun and shouldered it.

“Well, I’ll be God damned...”

He strode towards them as Arthur also lowered his gun, calling out, “In here, Dutch.”

Licking her lips, Ada stood back as John passed her and grabbed Bronte, hauling him to his feet.

“My friends, my good friends,” Bronte smiled, releasing a slight laugh. “Okay, okay, name your price, every man has a price, name it! I surrender!”

John snorted as he punched him, knocking the Italian man out cold. “What a God damn idiot...”

“Hey.” Ada turned to Arthur as he gripped her right forearm gently. “What’s this? You okay?”

Her gaze dropped to her bicep and the blood staining her brown and white shirt. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine, I think it’s just a graze.”

Arthur exhaled a heavy breath and tugged his bandanna free from his neck. “We’ll get Grimshaw to look at it when we get back,” he murmured, releasing her arm so he could wrap the bandanna around the wound, pulling it tight.

Wincing slightly, she then caught his gaze, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, a corner of her mouth lifting a little.

“Should we kill him?” John interrupted before Arthur could press further, rising from where he’d checked Bronte’s pockets.

“Nah,” Arthur replied as he finished tying the bandanna, dropping his hands. “Let’s take him to Dutch.”

John nodded, stepping over Bronte and passing them. “You can carry him, then. I ain’t carryin’ that piece of shit.”

Arthur nodded, shouldering his gun with a sigh. “All righ’.”

Ada followed them out of the bedroom, John leading the way with Arthur behind him, carrying Bronte over his shoulder. Picking the repeater up that she’d dropped on the way out, she held it in her left hand and kept a grip on the revolver in her right. Her arm ached but she ignored it. She was relieved they hadn’t wanted to hear the story of how she’d apprehended him, John probably too full of rage at the man who had kept his son to care now that they had him, and Arthur too distracted by her wound.

They made it to the stairs when they heard it. Whistles outside and voices shouting; the law were finally here.

_About damn time_ , she thought as the men cursed.

“Let’s go, come on!” she heard Dutch call, having already gone down the stairs.

They moved quickly, descending and meeting with him, Bill and Lenny.

“Come on, we’re gettin’ the hell outta here!” Bill yelled as they ran for the back doors.

They heard the front doors once more burst open behind them, this time, though, it was officers surging in.

“Put your guns down!” one of them yelled, though he was quickly silenced by Lenny.

John, Dutch, Bill and Lenny turned and gave her and Arthur cover as they ran through the back doors and out into the garden.

“Look out!” she suddenly called, shoving Arthur to the side as officers appeared from behind the hedges.

Ducking to the side and using columns for cover, they fired back, John joining them.

Luckily, there was only a small group of them, and their own group could swiftly move down the steps, darting across the stones.

“Push up on ‘em!” Lenny shouted.

“Sorry, boys, nobody’s goin’ to jail today!” she heard Dutch call out from behind her, jubilant.

They ran and fired as they went, speed seeming to work in their favour.

“Come on, let’s get outta here!” John called, the first to make it down the small set of stairs that led to the back of the property.

Bullets came from behind them, though she sensed the officers were being somewhat cautious, probably suspecting they had more members lying in wait.

_No, just us six lucky fools._

Instead of heading to the wall, though, Dutch, taking the lead, led them towards a tall set of open gates and out onto a jetty.

_Oh, so we could’ve avoided the wall._

Then, she saw Thomas on his boat, gesturing for them to hurry, and she sped up, close behind the men.

“Put him in front, Arthur. Bill, you help him,” Dutch said of Bronte, glancing back at the house.

The officers were definitely being cautious, hanging back even, though they continued to fire.

John, already in the boat, helped Bill to remove Bronte from Arthur’s shoulder, dropping him down into the front of the boat, grunting slightly. Arthur rolled his shoulder as he sucked in a breath, before stepping closer to her and gently pressing a hand on her back. She took the hint, stepping down into the boat, and sitting beside John, Arthur stepping in after her and sitting at the front.

“Come on, Lenny...” Dutch muttered, getting in to the boat.

Her head whipping up, her heart stuttered slightly as she realised the young man wasn’t with them. Licking her lips, she stared at the gate, then, yes, there he was racing through them with a wide grin.

Releasing a breath of relief, she smiled as he caught her eye and winked. “All right, come on, everyone, what you waitin’ for, let’s go!”

Dutch chuckled as he sat down at the front, Lenny jumping into the boat and sitting beside Bill at the back. “Let’s get outta here, Thomas.”

“Gladly.” The older man nodded, using his staff to swiftly push them away from the jetty.

They fell silent as Thomas moved them away from the house, the darkness and fog on the water claiming them. Ada gripped her guns tightly to try and stop the shaking of her hands, hoping that would hide them, but she needn’t have bothered. Everyone in the boat was looking down at Bronte who was slowly coming to after Dutch had shaken him awake.

“Hey, big man,” Dutch said cheerfully as Bronte stammered slightly in his disorientation, his eyes flashing between them all. “We gonna ransom you or what?”

Bronte’s gazed darted to Dutch. Then, he pulled a face and shook his head as he pushed himself up a little. “You’re pathetic.”

“Oh, I am? ‘cause from where I’m sittin’ you’re the one deservin’ of pity, my friend.” Lenny chuckled quietly behind her as Dutch continued, “All your men... All your money...” Glancing at Dutch’s back, she could hear his smile. “... it weren’t no match for a bunch of bumpkins.”

Bronte snarled, seething. “You are nothing. You do nothing. You mean nothing. You stand for nothing. Me? I _run a city_.” He laughed. “And when the law catch up to you, you will _die like nothing_.” His voice was rising. “I am this country. You, you,” he looked between them all, “You are what people are running _from_.”

There was a pause.

Dutch’s voice was so quiet when he spoke. “I possess things that you will never understand.”

“You don’t even posses your own men,” Bronte retorted. He looked at them all again, lifting his chin as he declared, “A thousand dollars to the man who kills him and sets me free.”

None of them moved. Ada didn’t look away from Bronte to see their expressions; she was too busy revelling in his own falling as it dawned on him that he couldn’t buy his way out of this one.

Dutch leaned closer. “What are you gonna say now?”

Bronte was starting to panic now. “They are even bigger fools than you.”

“No doubt!”

“The law will find you!” Bronte was sweating. “Already the dogs are on the way!”

“Oh, yeah! Oh, you’re right!” 

She finally looked away from Bronte to look at Dutch, her brow dipping slightly at his... what could only be described as a _manic_ tone. Moving closer to Bronte, on his feet, Dutch reached for him.

“You are _so_ right!” He gripped the back of Bronte’s head, holding him tight. “They are good at smellin’ filth, huh?”

Arthur had stood now, too, staring at Dutch, as had Lenny behind her, she felt. Arthur looked back at John, and Ada and... she saw a slight panic in his eyes. Dutch was still talking. In fact, he was _shouting_ now.

“So filth has got to be disposed of!”

Then, he shoved Bronte’s head over the side and into the water. She froze, staring at him as John cursed beside her and Lenny inhaled sharply. Bronte was trying to scream but water was filling his mouth as he tried to thrash, gargling.

“Your friends, the Pinkertons, gonna come and rescue you now?!” Dutch was shouting. He suddenly lifted his head and Bronte gasped for breath, sheer terror on his face. “You repulsive little maggot!” Dutch yelled. He shoved his head back down under the water, and Bronte writhed and thrashed, trying to kick his legs out.

She felt Lenny’s hand on her shoulder, tight. Dutch was snarling and John stood suddenly and Bill did, too, the boat rocking slightly. Looking to Arthur to see what he was doing, she suddenly realised why they had. They had reached Thomas’s jetty, and Arthur grabbed the wooden post, keeping the boat against it, but he was still staring.

“Call them, now!” Dutch growled. “You call them!” Bronte’s head was still under the water, and his movements were slowing, weakening. They all just stared. Dutch was grunting and growling still, like an _animal_ , until, a few moments later, Bronte stilled.

Hissing out a breath through his teeth, Dutch released him and stood, breathing heavily. Then, he shoved him over the side.

“Jesus...” John breathed, incredulous, looking from the water to Dutch. “What part of your philosophy books cover feedin’ a man to God damn alligators, Dutch?”

Dutch was watching the sinking body of the great Angelo Bronte. “The part that covers weakness.” He glanced at John, still trying to somewhat catch his breath. “That part.”

Bill had exited the boat, so had Thomas, and she felt Lenny pat her shoulder gently.

“Come on,” he murmured, looking slightly withdrawn. Getting to her feet, she stepped out of the boat, finding her hands were still shaking.

“I don’t know—” John started to say, when Dutch snapped, “Well, I do.” He pressed his lips together, then turned and stepped out of the boat, passing Arthur. “It ain’t nice, I know it, but it is _us_ or _him!_ ” He lowered his voice slightly. “I figure it might as well be him.”

He turned and strode past her, following after Bill, Thomas and Lenny. She lifted her gaze from where she’d been staring at the wooden boards of the jetty, and looked at the two remaining men.

_What the_ **_hell_ ** _just happened._

From their expressions as they stepped out of the boat, they were thinking the same thing. They were silent, though, no one wanting to voice what was rolling around in their minds. After a moment, John shook his head and strode away. She could hear the men mounting their horses.

Biting at her lower lip, she looked up at Arthur. She felt like crying and she didn’t know why. Maybe because of how helpless he looked. She closed the small distance between them, shouldered the Repeater and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. His tired blue eyes met her own. Clearing his throat, he looked away.

“Come on. They’ll be waitin’.”

* * *

“Come up to my room,” Arthur murmured to her, his hand sliding back into hers after they’d dismounted. 

They’d all ridden back in silence, in a slightly broken formation; Dutch at the front, Lenny and Bill a little behind, followed by John some way back, then her and Arthur.

The paths had been quiet, as was Shady Belle. Javier was taking a watch and Lenny had dismounted and said he’d take over from him. Ada looked at the young man, her heart aching slightly; he looked rattled. The others had dismounted and dispersed, heading in different directions. 

She let him lead her into the house and up the stairs, following behind John who entered his family’s room. Once inside their own, Arthur shut the door and turned to her, releasing a breath.

“Well. That was somethin’.”

“Yes, it was.” There was still a shake to her hands. He had to have felt it. She went to fold her arms, before wincing at the pain of her wound, and shook her head slightly. “Arthur... Bronte could have been used as a bargaining tool. Dutch could have got the Pinkertons to ease up, maybe, give everyone a chance, some time, perhaps, to get away.”

Arthur nodded as he rubbed his forehead. “I know, I...” He didn’t know what to say. Inhaling a long breath, he began to remove his guns, placing them on the table beside the door as he watched her. “Before John and I came in, what were you talkin’ with Bronte about?”

Ada looked at him, then moved and picked a clean rag up from the table, dipped it in the bowl of water beside it and began to rub the dirt and sweat off her face, silent. He was deflecting. Once again.

“You were gonna kill him, weren’t you?”

Her silence lingered for a few moments.

“Yes.”

“Why.”

She lowered the rag, bracing her hands against the table as she shook her head, finally looking up at him. “I don’t know what came over me, he just... He was just...” Licking her lips, she straightened, her hands playing with the rag. “I asked him where Colm is so I can find Thomas.”

He paused, his gaze searching hers. “You think he might be out there, then?”

She shrugged quickly. “I don’t know. I just need to know, one way or another.” She opened her mouth, then closed it for a moment. “Sadie told me she’s gonna go after them, the O’Driscolls. She invited me to join her.”

Arthur was now silent. He dragged his teeth over his lower lip as he placed a hand on the table, the other on his hip. “Are you going to?” he asked quietly.

She nodded a little a few times, taking in a small breath. “I think I am.”

His gaze travelled her features before he nodded. “All right. You just let me know when you’re both goin’.” He moved then, his hands cupping her cheeks, his thumbs gently brushing over her skin as he held her gaze. “I don’t mind how long it takes. Just come back to me, darlin’.”

Her lips parted as her eyebrows rose. “You’d let me go?”

The corners of his mouth lifted. “You ain’t mine to keep, sweetheart. You’re a choice I made, and one I’d make over and over again.”

Her heart... ached like nothing she had ever felt before. Her voice was so quiet as she finally dared ask, “Why.”

His smile lingered as his thumbs stroked again. “You know why.”

She just gazed at him.

There was a light knock at the door.

“Arthur? Dutch and Hosea want to see you,” Charles murmured, and they heard him walk away.

Arthur’s smile widened a little more and he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes, a hand settling on his arm gently. It fell as he released her, stepping back.

“See you later. Get Susan to look at that arm.”

Then, he turned, opened the door and headed out, closing it behind himself.

She stared at it, her arms by her sides, her eyes filling with tears.

Something inside her started to heal.


	14. When The Sun Rises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some scenes and dialogue have been taken word-for-word from the game.

She was roused the next morning by Sadie shaking her gently.

“What, what’s happened, what is it?”

“Jesus, woman, nothin’. Dutch is callin’ a meetin’.”

Exhaling a grateful breath, she rubbed at her eyes and face as she sat up.

“Now?”

“Yeah. Get your ass up.”

“All right, all right...”

“I’ll get you some coffee,” Sadie said, her tone indicating Ada looked as rough as she felt.

Truthfully, she’d had a restless sleep. 

_Again._

As Sadie left, she pushed herself up and stretched as she crossed the room. Hissing, she quickly lowered her sore arm. Susan had bandaged the wound up well, but it would still take a while to heal properly. She’d washed Arthur’s bandanna for her, and she now wore it around her own neck. For safe-keeping, of course. Opening the balcony doors, she stepped out with a yawn, watching the morning mist roll over the water. The air was cool, waking her faster than the coffee probably would.

It was peaceful and still.

Scratching her neck, she turned back to the room. Arthur hadn’t returned. Maybe he had, though, and had just woken before her. Rolling her shoulders, she headed to the stairs.

The gang were gathering slowly by the fountain, most also still half-asleep. Uncle was even falling back asleep, his head dropping down onto his chest as he sat against a crate. Ada found Sadie stood beside Lenny as she descended the stairs, moving towards her with a smile. Sadie returned it as Ada approached, yawning widely.

“Careful, you nearly swallowed me,” Sadie said as she handed her a cup of steaming coffee.

Ada just hummed, finding it too early in the day for verbal jousting. Wrapping both hands around the cup to warm herself, her gaze lifted as the doors to the house opened.

Dutch stepped out and down from the porch, looking brighter than he had in days. Arthur and Hosea followed after him, the latter smiling lightly, the former looking like he hadn’t slept at all.

She stared at him as he came to a halt, folding his arms, deepening the creases in his cream shirt. He didn’t search the group for her, though, his eyes on Dutch.

“Everyone, may I please have your attention,” their leader called out, bringing the quiet conversations to a finish. Smiling, he nodded a couple of times. “Today’s the day. Today we’re hittin’ the bank.”

She froze as surprised noises rose from the followers.

“Hosea has provided us with a plan I am confident in. We hit ‘em now, during the day, with the distraction we have planned...” His smile widened. “Well... Let’s rob this bastard.”

Alarm rose within her. This was happening too fast. She thought it’d be at least another week or so before they would have put a plan together.

She realised the cup was burning her hands.

Her gaze returning to Arthur, she watched him head back inside.

Dutch clapped his hands together. “Abigail, John, Charles, Lenny, Micah, Bill, Javier, get ready. Sunday best, if you please.”

Ada wasn’t surprised she and Sadie hadn’t been selected, and she knew the other woman wouldn’t be either. Dutch would want the tried and tested, the old comrades.

Yet...

As the group disbanded, she looked at Sadie and met her gaze. She so desperately wanted to confide in her, but she said nothing. Sadie exhaled a breath, her eyebrows raising slightly, and turned away, heading back to her post.

A thought struck her suddenly.

_She knows I have a secret._

That didn’t feel quite as unnerving as she would have thought.

She moved, following after Arthur. She could hear Jack trying to read to himself in his room as she climbed the stairs. Glancing through the hole in the wall as she passed, she saw him sat on the bed, his legs swinging.

Arthur’s door was open and she paused, licking her dry lips. He was stood before a mirror and had changed fast, clean, tailored trousers on, clean boots, a dark blue waistcoat buttoned up over his cream shirt, and he was tying a cravat.

_It’s the same colour as the dress I wore at the gala_ , she thought absent-mindedly.

She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Placing the cup down on the shelf beside her, she folded her arms as she gazed at him.

“That’s a nice suit.”

He glanced up at her through the reflection as he straightened the cravat. “Yeah. Do I look respectable?”

“You look like you’re about to rob a bank.”

His lips lifted. “Well, hopefully no one else will see that.”

There was silence as he lifted his suit jacket from a chair and pulled it on, adjusting the cuffs. He could feel her eyes on him, though.

“Arthur, I’m going to come with you all.”

He looked at her through the reflection again. “No, you ain’t.”

“Yes, I am—”

_“No_ , you ain’t.” He turned sharply but she didn’t flinch. “This ain’t like our usual jobs—”

“Exactly, so that’s why an extra set of eyes would be beneficial—”

“No, Ada, I’m not gonna allow it.”

She scoffed _. “’Allow it’_? Excuse me, yesterday you said—”

Arthur waved his hand as he shook his head. “I know, I didn’t mean it to sound that way, but I can’t, I _don’t_ want to let that happen—”

“Abigail’s going, Arthur.”

“I know but—”

She dropped her arms as she lifted her chin an inch. “I hate that I’m sounding like a child but I can shoot better than her, Arthur, and nobody knows I’m with the gang, either. Someone could recognise Abigail—”

“You’re not goin’.”

“ _Why not_?”

“Because I can’t concentrate and do what I need to do if I think you’re in any kind of danger.”

That made her pause. For a second.

“That’s complete _bullshit_ , Arthur.”

“Excuse me?”

Her hands went to her hips. “We’ve been in danger before, you know I can handle myself, do you think John gets distracted about Abigail? No, because he trusts her and knows she can handle herself and—”

He lifted his hands, his voice quieter. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, I do, I know what you can do, Ada, and I’d rather you do it here, with Sadie, protectin’ these people if anythin’ should go wrong.”

She pressed her lips together. It wasn’t an unreasonable statement. Did she really want to go, or would she just not be able to bear the agony of waiting?

Either way, she knew he wouldn’t be moved.

Her hands dropped, her tone matching his. “All right.”

He wanted to say more, so much more, but he knew there was no time. Exhaling a breath, he strapped his gunbelt around his waist.

“C’mon, the others should be nearly ready.”

He watched her turn, take her cup from the shelf, open the door and head out.

No time.

No time and no way he could tell her that he felt as nervous as Dutch had, despite his agreements with Hosea about the plan.

The chosen were indeed nearly ready when Arthur stepped outside, Ada standing by the dry fountain, arms folded as she glanced between them all, the cup now nowhere to be seen. Someone else must’ve needed it more.

“C’mon, everyone, let’s go,” Dutch called out, appearing behind him. “You got everything, Arthur?” he murmured to him as he passed.

“Sure,” he answered, moving down the steps.

“So, we rob ourselves a bank, and within six weeks we’re living life anew in a tropical idyll spending the last of our days as banana farmers?” Hosea mused as he climbed up onto the carriage the women had prepared, winking as he caught Ada’s eye. She returned his smile because she could never not.

Abigail snorted as she climbed up next to him, wearing a very pretty dress and hat. Ada was about to compliment her when a hand settled on the small of her back. She’d know who it was anywhere, even if years lay between each touch.

“Walk with me,” Arthur murmured.

She did, moving with him to Ophelia. She held the reins as he mounted, gently stroking the horse’s neck. Then, she met his gaze.

“Please be careful,” she pleaded softly.

He nodded, his features unreadable. “I’ll see you soon.”

She was ready to just turn away when he cupped her cheek, lowered himself and captured her lips in a firm kiss. She gripped at the lapels of his jacket, holding him tightly. She gave him everything she had, tried to at least. All too soon, his lips left but his forehead pressed against hers and she couldn’t open her eyes.

She blocked out the sound of Micah snorting as he passed them.

Then, Arthur pulled back, lifted his head and gripped the reins.

He didn’t, couldn’t, look at her as he turned and urged Ophelia onwards.

“Let’s get out of this God forsaken place and go rob ourselves a bank!” Hosea called as the carriage rolled forward, and the men cheered and whooped, grinning and laughing.

They urged their horses into a gallop, adrenaline already coursing through their veins. This is what they lived for. Dust rose after them, blowing gently towards the remaining few who watched them go, all silent.

Ada stared at the retreating figures.

She’d told herself she hadn’t wanted anything more from Arthur, but... she knew why her heart hurt so badly.

Sadie stood beside her but before she could say a word, Ada announced, “I’ll take a watch.”

Striding forward, she grabbed one of the Repeaters propped against a sandbag and headed for the front entrance. She sat on a crate, her back against the stone wall and stared at the path.

Waiting, waiting, always waiting.

Waiting for Da to play with her, waiting for Mama to make dinner, waiting for Thomas to come back, waiting for a friend in Strawberry, waiting for an opportunity to get away from the gang, waiting for a chance to prove herself, waiting for Arthur to come back...

She was always just sitting around, waiting. Waiting for _something_. Waiting for another bad event. Waiting for a good thing to happen.

Footsteps sounded on the path beside her. Glancing up, she met Sadie’s gaze. Exhaling a breath, she shifted over on the crate, giving her space to sit. Sadie balanced her rifle on her knees, also leaning back against the wall.

Neither said a word.

They sat like that for they didn’t know how long, neither of them counting, just sitting, waiting.

Birds sang in the gently swaying trees. Something shuffled in the undergrowth, disturbing the bushes, and a squirrel emerged moments later, scampering across the path to a tree, darting up it. One of the remaining horses whinnied to another. Flies buzzed around, quietened for a few moments, then buzzed again. Mary-Beth’s laugh, carried by the wind, quietly echoed across the grounds, soon accompanied by Karen’s cackle—

A distant explosion rattled the earth.

“Jesus Christ—”

“Oh my God—”

On their feet, they stared off towards Saint Denis, watching smoke billow and rise into the air in the northern part of the town.

“One hell of a diversion...” Sadie murmured.

Pressing her lips together, Ada turned to her. “Sadie, we should go and help them.”

She sighed. “Annie, we can’t, it’s too late for us to join now. It’d do more harm ‘an good.”

“Sadie, we _have_ to help them.”

“ _Why_?”

Ada opened her mouth and closed it. She took a breath. “I have something to tell you.”

The older woman eyed her, still. “Okay.”

“We should—”

“Sadie! Sadie! Annie!”

Their heads shot up. Tilly was running down the smaller path towards them, holding her skirts so she wouldn’t trip, her eyes wide.

“What, what is it, Tilly, what’s goin’ on?” Sadie called, gripping her gun as Tilly neared them, gasping for breath.

“I was... I was just goin’ to pick some berries, and then...” She pointed the way she'd come from. “... There’s men in uniform, comin’ up from Saint Denis.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Sadie hissed.

“They knew, they knew this whole time...” Ada stared up the path, expecting to see the men charging down.

“Annie, come on.” Sadie tapped her arm and turned, striding towards the house. “Everyone pack up! We gotta go!” she yelled, breaking into a jog.

“What?!” Susan shot up from her chair on the porch as people froze, staring at the three women racing down the path.

"Start packin’ up, the law are comin’, we got less than five minutes!” Sadie hollered, shoving the passing Pearson into a run.

“We can’t get everythin’ together in five minutes!” Susan called out even as she started running to the girls’ wagon.

“Then pack essentials only, you know how to do it. Five minutes, I mean it!”

“All right, you heard her, get to it, people!” Susan yelled, and the remaining few instantly started running, each seeming to know what their area was, calling out to each other.

Tilly ran into the house as Sadie and Ada came to a halt on the porch, checking how many bullets were in their guns.

“Sadie, we’re not going to make it out before they come,” Ada murmured, watching Pearson and Karen swiftly wrap and stow food into sacks.

“I know.” Hissing out a breath as she shouldered her rifle, Sadie’s gaze darted about until she found Tilly. “How many of them are there, Tilly?”

“Not many, nine or ten!” the woman shouted, helping Uncle carry the money box out of the house to Pearson’s wagon.

“They’ll have wanted to keep the majority of men in the city,” Ada muttered as she shoved bullets she found on the nearby windowsill into the Repeater chamber before pocketing a box of bullets.

“They think we’re defenceless,” Sadie scoffed, meeting Ada’s determined gaze.

“Let’s prove them embarrassingly wrong.”

Striding down the steps, they made their way to the trenches.

“Where are we gonna go?!” Pearson yelled as he led two of the horses towards his wagon.

“I know a place!” Sadie answered. “You head north first, though, and we’ll try and shake ‘em off so we ain’t followed! And take Uncle and Jack!”

“All right!”

The two women stopped at the first wave of sandbags, and Ada could feel them, hooves thundering on the dirt path to the east.

“Go on, Pearson, go!”

Pearson urged the horses on, the wagon racing up the path as Uncle held onto Jack and through the trees they went. Just in time.

A minute later, Ada counted, her Repeater aimed, they appeared, having dismounted. Someone, she didn’t know who, fired and it began. She could barely hear Sadie yelling out instructions above the noise, telling people where to go as she shot at the men. Some of the officers were yelling out, too, but she couldn’t make them out either. Bullets whizzed over her head, coming from both directions, the space between them empty, the horses having been moved by Karen. 

Tilly’s warning had given them enough time to prepare and the men had been woefully over-confident in their mission; they scrambled for cover, six already dead. Sadie ducked down as she reloaded, looking back towards the house.

“Susan’s finishin’ up with Mary-Beth and Molly! Karen, Tilly, Swanson and Trelawney are firin’!” she yelled to Ada.

“They should get out on the back road, it’ll be empty!” she called back and Sadie nodded.

“You go and tell ‘em, I got it here!”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, go, I got you covered!”

Ducking, Ada ran behind Sadie and crawled out of the trench. Running half-crouched past the bandstand, she glanced in. Her wrapped dress was still there, as was her spare blouse and her book, and the knife Sean had given her. She’d have to leave them. She continued on down the side of the house. Rounding behind it, she ran, glimpsing Susan, Mary-Beth and Swanson getting the wagon moving.

“Take the back road!” she called out, gaining their attention. “We’ll head through the—”

A bullet flew past her ear, startling her into an abrupt halt.

“ _Annie!_ ” Mary-Beth screamed.

Spinning around, Ada saw four men jumping off of a boat, their guns raised. Moving backwards, she fired, knocking one back into the water. She went to fire again, but all the Repeater did was ‘ _click_ ’, empty. Cursing under her breath, she scrambled for the box in her trouser pocket, darting behind the shack close to her. Filling the chamber as quickly as she could, she looked up to see Susan and Mary-Beth firing as Swanson and Molly climbed up into the wagon, the Reverend gathering the reins.

“Get in!” Ada shouted. “Get in, I’ve got them!”

They either didn’t hear her or ignored her, continuing to fire. Shoving the box back into her pocket, she peered out and saw only two men now, hiding behind trees. Ada moved to the other end of the shack, ducking between a gap in the wood to climb out. Looking to the wagon, she saw Faithful beyond it, dancing from side to side, agitated as the rest of the horses by the noise.

Licking her dry lips, she whistled and his head jerked in her direction. Whinnying, he galloped towards her, rounding the wagon.

“Good boy, come on,” she hushed him, trying to grab at his reins as he tossed his head, his eyes wide. “I know, I know—”

A gun fired and he screamed, his neck arching.

Crying out, she watched him sway and fall, collapsing to the ground with a pained whinny.

Spinning, she shot the final man advancing towards her, the bullet finding his chest despite her clouding vision.

Turning back to Faithful, she fell to her knees, dropping her gun and cradling his head as he released a sound that broke her heart. 

“Oh no, oh no, my boy...” Her voice shook as her hands stroked him, watching the blood running down his neck. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s all right, you’re okay, you’re okay...”

Closing her eyes, her chin trembled. His legs kicked out. Moving her hand, she found her gun again.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed.

As she aimed, pulled the trigger and gave him peace, she heard Susan yelling.

“Annie, come on, we gotta go, more of ‘em might be comin’!”

“Coming,” she whispered, before her eyes opened and she pushed it all away, finding her voice, “Coming!”

Looking down at Faithful one last time, she pushed herself up and ran then towards the wagon. There was silence on the other side of the house. This was their chance, Susan was probably right, more would be—

A bullet tore through her left thigh.

She collapsed with a cry, landing on her wounded arm, the Repeater tumbling out of her hands.

“ _Fuck_...” she gasped, her eyes wide as pain racked her surprised body.

“Come here...” She felt a man grip the back of her shirt, pulling her up from the ground. Lifting her good leg and striking her boot back, she kicked him in the knee, making his hold loosen.

Falling back down, she grunted and rolled onto her back, seeing the man who’d shot Faithful and she thought she’d killed standing over her, wheezing. Blood stained his uniform jacket, spreading. She scrambled backwards as he pulled a knife from his belt, and managed to push herself up, all of her weight on her right leg.

“Come here...” he wheezed again, advancing on her.

Ada limped backwards, going no faster than he was. His arm swung out and he slashed at her and she whipped her head back just in time—

A blinding white hotness spread across her forehead, making her cry out. She couldn’t see, a liquid pouring down her face and filling her eyes. Collapsing as her leg gave out, she tried to wipe it away but it wouldn’t stop.

She knew what it was. Blood. And it wasn’t stopping. Why wasn’t it stopping, why did it hurt so much, _oh my God, I can’t see_...

“ _Annie_!” Mary-Beth screamed, and she heard a gun fire.

She froze, waiting for the knowledge of whatever death felt like to strike her, but all she heard was a gargled groan, and felt the man drop beside her.

“Annie? Annie! Are you all right?” Karen shouted, and she felt her arms around her, hauling her up and pulling her along, forcing her to move her feet.

“... I’ve, I’ve been shot—”

“I know, I know, you’re gonna be all right—”

“Get her in the back of the wagon!” she heard Susan yell from somewhere.

“Tilly’s shot, too!” Mary-Beth cried, her voice sounding closer.

“Get ‘em in, quickly!”

Ada heard Tilly half-gasping, half-crying as she was lifted, then it was her turn. Hissing out her breaths, someone gripped her under the arms as Karen raised her legs, pushing her up into the wagon and making her groan through gritted teeth. Settling onto her back, she went to try and clear her eyes again when someone shoved her hands away.

“Stop, hang on...” Karen’s voice.

“Annie, you’re losin’ a lot of blood—”

“Susan, hand me that.” 

A rough material wiped across her eyes and she finally could see, just about.

All she could really see was a red sky, and beyond it, smoke rising above Saint Denis. All she could hear was faint, echoing gunfire.

The material was pressed against her forehead, making her hiss in pain.

“Go, go, go!”

The wagon lurched forward at Susan’s order, and she heard Tilly groan next to her, still crying.

“It’s all right, Tilly, it’s all right, you’re gonna be okay...” Mary-Beth was trying her best to console her, but she could hear the tears in her voice, too.

“Oh my God, the others...” Tilly sobbed.

“They’ll be fine,” Sadie cut in from beside the wagon, on her horse. “They’ll all be fine, they’ll come back.”

Ada stared at the shrinking house, her vision clouding once more, this time with her own tears.

_They’ll all be fine._

_They’ll come back._

_They’ll all be fine._

_They’ll come back._

_They’ll come back._

_They’ll come back_.

* * *


	15. The Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

**Five Weeks Later**

He leapt out of the row boat onto the jetty, landing heavily. If there had been anyone around, besides the captain who’d rowed him over, they would have heard a sharp, muttered curse, watched him pause.

Then, he pushed himself up, staggering just slightly, and nodded his gratitude to the captain. The man nodded in return silently, then started to row away.

It felt like a very long walk up to the main and only street of Van Horn for Arthur Morgan.

Shady Belle. That’s where he’d start. Part of him knew, hoped, they wouldn’t all be there, that they’d have moved on, that would have been the smart thing to do. But how to get there?

Stopping on the street to catch his breath, Arthur looked right, then left. A few horses were tied to posts, but every establishment was quiet, even the bar. Then again, it was only a few hours until the sun would rise. The strongest looking horse was to his left. He started moving.

“Hey, girl... good girl...” he murmured to her as she lifted her head, shifting a little uneasily.

She soon settled, though, as he stroked her neck and murmured to her, slowly unwinding the reins from the post. She was beautiful, a piebald Hungarian Half-bred. He hadn’t seen one of those in a while.

Still softly whispering to her, he gripped the saddle and pulled himself up, hissing out a breath.

Bone-aching tiredness and this horse would get him home.

To her.

He encountered no one as he left Van Horn, urging the horse into a light canter. It was the first time in nearly over a month that he’d been alone. Guarma had been... He hoped to God he never had to be in a place like that again. He couldn’t stop his heart from aching slightly at those who were still trapped there, but he had faith in Hercule and his men. Besides, he had his own battles and problems to think about.

Dutch was one of those problems.

_Later, think on it later. Just get home._

To her.

Christ. When had he last been able to think of her properly?

_Not yet, not yet. Wait ‘til you see her._

If he saw her.

Only a few travellers passed him as he made his way to Shady Belle. He was just grateful for the quiet, and kept his mind blank, watching the paths he took. It must have rained a little while before as there were puddles everywhere and the mud was slick. The horse handled it well, though. He quickly took a shine to her.

Passing a bridge that would lead into Saint Denis and riding past the fields of Caliga Hall, he marvelled at how long ago all their businesses there felt, how much had changed since then. 

How people had changed. How he had changed. How... How people had died.

His jaw moved.

_Don’t think about that now._

He slowed the horse as they neared Shady Belle, coming down to a walk. He strained to hear as they passed the trees and shrubs that had once been so familiar. Then, he turned on to the main path and he saw it, the large, once great building, still intact. His gaze darted about as he rode down towards it, but he saw no one, heard nothing, not even crickets and flies. He pulled the horse to a gentle halt as she came to the fountain, and he dismounted slowly. The front doors were open, anyone could shoot at and kill him now, he had no weapons, nothing. Continuing to scan the area, he checked the saddlebag on the horse. Just a few coins and a map of Lemoyne.

Exhaling a breath, he turned towards the house, patting the horse’s neck gently. Looking to the right, there was a collapsed wagon, and to the left, the bandstand.

Her bandstand.

He moved to it. Peered in. Nothing.

He moved to the house. Rain had gotten in, staining the first few floorboards beyond the doors. Inside, it looked just as it had when he and John had first arrived to clear it out for all of them; books, papers and leaves strewn about, furniture turned over, bottles and cans piled together. People must have been using this place, but it hadn’t been his people.

He closed his eyes as he ran a hand through his sand and sea-salt thick hair. What the hell was he doing here. He had no way to track them. What if they really had all gone? What if... What if something had happened to them? Rubbing at his face, he moved to his right, into the closest room. He sat down heavily on the non-collapsed side of a faded chaise lounge and put his head in his hands.

He was so God damn tired. Exhausted. Like he’d never been before in his life. He’d never been the kind of man to give up, but now...

Hosea dead.

Lenny dead.

Charles, he didn’t know.

John, too.

Dutch...

Lifting his head and sitting back, he stared across the room into the next, his hands falling to his lap. The table they’d once placed maps and books on was still upright, two bottles on it and propped between them an—

He frowned.

... And an envelope. A pristine one, that very much looked out of place.

Pushing himself up, Arthur crossed the room to the table, grabbing the envelope.

_Tacitus Kilgore_ , the front read.

Their alias.

A corner of his mouth lifted as he turned it over and ripped it open. He fumbled slightly as he pulled a folded piece of paper out of it and opened it, instantly beginning to read.

> _Dear Uncle Tacitus,_

> _I do so hope you enjoyed your vacation. Lucky you! Leaving like that. And you always suggested you were too old for travel. I hope you and your cousins enjoyed yourselves. Me and your grand nieces have decided to take a trip of our own as the place has become so dreary and godforsaken in your absence. We have gone to visit relatives (from my Daddy’s side. You are not yet acquainted with them) in Lakay, a small village just north of Saint Denis._

> _It’s buggy and muggy but apparently neither is too bad at this time of year. Please come see us when you can._

> _Yours sincerely,_

> _Caroline_

“Well, thank you, darling niece ‘Caroline’,” Arthur murmured as he smiled, folding the letter back into the envelope.

The tone rang of Sadie, but also her.

He placed it back on the table, leaving it for any of the other men who might try their luck here for any sign of their gang. 

Rolling his shoulders, he headed for the door, finding the last of his energy.

Lakay. Them. Her.

Soon, he would be with them.

* * *

He’d had to slow the gallop of the horse as they entered the heartland of the swamps. It was muddier here, the swamp overflowing to the paths and making the horse skid slightly. Despite his eagerness, he kept her to a light canter, not wanting any broken necks or legs for either of them.

It was quiet and dark, the morning light breaking through the large, heavy trees in thin shafts. He had to commend them, it was well covered, and he certainly wouldn’t want to bring an army through here to look for them.

He slowed to a trot as he passed through some muddy water and between two short wooden poles, small skulls attached to the top of them.

_Great._

Then, he saw them. Shacks and sheds in an odd kind of circle, dim lanterns dotted around, and...

Abigail, Pearson and Tilly.

He pulled the horse to an abrupt halt and dismounted, unsure of how he managed to stay on his feet, his legs so close to giving out. He stared at them. Abigail, Pearson and Tilly. They were bent over a table, each working on a part of a meal, evidently. Then, Abigail raised her head. The knife dropped from her hand, clattering loudly on the table.

“Arthur?!” Her arms were around him before he knew it. Closing his eyes, he found himself smiling as he patted her back.

He wanted to sink into the warm embrace, but it wasn’t the one he really wanted.

“Hey.” God, his voice sounded terrible to his own ears. When was the last time he’d had water?

“’ _Hey_ ’? Like you ain’t been away so God damn long,” Abigail half-scoffed, half-wept as she pulled back, smiling with relief.

“Had a nice time, Morgan?” Pearson asked with a grin, clapping him on the back. 

“Yeah, Micah tell you all about how lucky we was?” Arthur answered good-naturedly. He’d missed them all, and it nearly broke his heart to see how delighted and relieved Tilly and Abigail were, both of them crying, but he really only wanted to see one person. He was about to ask when Abigail gripped his arm.

“They took John, Arthur, at the bank.”

His heart dropped. “I know, Abigail, where is he?” 

“They got him, he’s in Sisika Penitentiary, Arthur, he’s probably gonna hang!”

He rubbed her back gently, sobs rising within her again. “It’s all righ’, sweetheart, it’ll be all righ’. Dutch’ll be here real soon and we’ll get him back, I promise.”

_Christ, John..._

His heart ached.

Smiling gently at her, Arthur glanced between them all. “Where’s Annie?”

“Oh, God, of course, I’m sorry, Arthur.” Abigail wiped her eyes sheepishly, looking to Tilly. “She was on watch, wasn’t she? She should just be—”

“Arthur?”

That voice.

His gaze lifted.

There she was. Staring at him. A shotgun held in one hand by her side. Her hair tied back. Clean blue blouse and black skirt. Brown belt wrapped around her waist along with a gunbelt around her hips, two revolvers in holsters. His bandanna tied loose around her neck. Her lips parted. Her eyes shining.

Then, she was striding towards him. The shotgun ended up in Pearson’s hands, from him catching it as she either dropped it or thrust it into his hands, he didn’t know, didn’t care.

As Ada threw her arms around his neck, his eyes closed and his own wrapped around her. He held on to her tightly, his face pressed into the crook of her neck.

She was safe. She was alive.

“I knew you couldn’t be dead, I knew it,” he heard her whispering, her voice cracking, “They’d have put it all over the papers, we’d have known, we’d have just known...”

He just held her, letting her surround him.

She held on just as tightly, taking shuddering breaths. It was several moments before she pulled back abruptly and gripped his shoulders, her eyes darting over him.

“Are you hurt? Your skin is all red, what happened?”

He gazed at her, keeping a hold on her waist. “I’m fine. A little thirsty and hungry, but fine.”

“Come here, come on.” She was taking his hand and leading him somewhere, and at some point the others must have disappeared because they were no longer there, but he just looked at her.

Her hair was shorter, he suddenly realised. It now fell to between her shoulder blades rather than near her waist. He was going to ask what happened when she turned to him, having led him behind a barely-standing shed.

“Sit down.” She dragged a crate closer to him.

He obeyed, trusting that it would bear his weight. It did, and he placed his hands on his knees as she pulled a bucket of water closer, a rag swimming in it.

“It’s clean, I promise,” she murmured, though he wasn’t fazed.

Gripping the rag and squeezing some water out of it, she then started to gently wipe at his face, and the coolness of it felt like heaven.

“Tell me what happened.”

He cleared his throat as he gazed at her. “Ain’t you gotta keep an eye out?”

“Oh, nothing happens around here.” She smiled lightly. “Well, apart from the Night Folk, but they loiter around the western roads.”

“The Night Folk?” The name rang a faint, tired bell.

“That’s a story for another time,” she answered, raising her eyebrows slightly as her smile widened a little more.

She swept the cloth down his neck before dipping it back into the water again. His fingers brushed against her skirt, gripping the material gently.

“You haven’t changed. Well, ‘cept the hair.”

She met his gaze, dabbing at the part of his chest she could get to, her smile lingering.

“You have.”

“Ah, well, ain’t no barbers in Guarma.”

“Guarma?!” Her hand dropped as she stared at him. “What the _hell_ were you doing there?!”

“Micah and Javier didn’t say?”

“Oh, well... I heard they’d come back but I just... stayed on my watch. I didn’t really know what I wanted to hear.” Grazing her teeth over her lower lip, she gripped at his shirt. “Come on, let’s get this off while you tell me.”

As he raised his arms to help her pull it off, wincing slightly as various aching muscles protested, and she started to wash him, he told her everything, beginning to end. How the bank had been surrounded almost instantly. How Hosea had been shot before them. How they’d blown a hole in the wall of the bank and escaped. How Lenny had been killed as they ran. How they had waited in a dingy room in a boarded-up building for darkness to fall, hiding like rats. How Charles had made himself a diversion, drawing guards away. How they’d managed to get onto a boat and convinced the captain to let them stay. How there had been a storm and the boat had caught fire somewhere in the ocean and they’d had to abandon it, jumping in to the water. Guarma and the hell it had provided. The journey back.

The only comment she gave throughout was that Charles had survived and found them and was still with them. Other than that, she just washed the dirt, sweat, sand and sea-salt from his chest, face and hair, expressionless. Even Hosea and Lenny’s deaths elicited no response from her, but he didn’t let it trouble him.

“Christ...” she finally said after he’d finished, exhaling a long breath. “... and Bill and Dutch are coming?”

“Yeah, we thought it’d be best if we went one at a time with quite some time between us to try and draw as little attention as possible.” He cleared his throat, wanting to ask for water to drink but not wanting her to leave him, even if only for a short while. “But what about you all, how did you all get away? What happened after we left?”

“Pinkerton men came minutes after the explosion.” Her lips twitched at his expression. “Yeah, we heard that all the way at Shady Belle. We packed everything up, came here, not before we exchanged shots. _Everyone_ is fine,” she quickly continued at his mouth opening, “Well, couple of scratches and bruises here and there. Couple of shots to legs and—”

“Whose?”

She pressed her lips together slightly. “Mine. _Don’t_ worry, all right, stop,” she swiftly continued again as he frowned and opened his mouth again. “I’m fine. It didn’t hit anything vital, just meant I couldn’t do much for a little while. Still limp a little and it aches every now and then but that should go away, hopefully.” Her features fell slightly. “Tilly got it worse. Bullet grazed her neck, but she’s okay, thank God. Oh, and there’s this...” 

As she brushed curls off of her forehead, he saw it; a thin white scar starting from the upper right side of her forehead, going almost diagonal across it, and curving down past her left eyebrow. 

“Jesus Christ...” One hand gripped her chin gently as he angled her head, his gaze following it. “What—”

“It’s _fine_. _I’m_ fine.” She lifted her head out of his touch, smiling lightly. “Nice, huh?” She was already continuing before he could answer. “Anyway, Sadie knew about this place. We reconvened in some woods up north the night it all happened, that’s how Charles found us, and then she and Charles rode ahead, chased away the men who were living here. Like I said, been quiet since then.”

Arthur kept a hold on her skirt as he looked at her. He knew it was pointless to worry about what had already happened, and she _was_ fine, but guilt still set in. He should have been there.

His hand found her free one, lacing their fingers together. “How you been?”

“Fine,” she answered, soaking the rag again.

“Ada.” His thumb brushed over her knuckles.

She exhaled a breath as she met his gaze, a smile tugging at her lips. “You made me cry, Arthur Morgan. More than once. I won’t forgive you for making me feel, cowboy.”

His chest tightened. He knew she wasn’t saying it to make him feel guilty, that she was just teasing, a little. He just couldn’t help but think about the burdens she’d had to carry, how she’d worried day after day. He’d had escaping and saving Javier to keep him occupied, combined with dehydration and near starvation. Even on the boat back he’d just slept, eaten, drank, then slept. God, the guilt could’ve crushed him. He knew apologising wouldn’t even begin to make up for it.

Taking the rag from her hand, he dropped it and took her by the waist, drawing her on to his lap.

“Arthur, I didn’t mean it...” she began to protest gently.

“It’s all righ’, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

She fell silent, her head resting against his shoulder. He tightened his hold on her, his chin on top of her head. She released a breath, her arm sliding around his back.

“What you been up to while we ain’t been around to make things excitin’?” he asked quietly, his fingers brushing against her skin.

She didn’t move, taking a breath. “Oh, the Night Folk have made things very exciting. Other than that, we’ve been lying low. And Sadie and I have been going after O’Driscolls.”

_Jesus Christ._

Arthur lifted his head, looking down at her. “What?”

Drawing her head back as well, Ada smiled. “Don’t give me that look. I told you we would, and we’ve survived so far, obviously.”

_Well, can’t argue with that._

Arthur exhaled a breath. “Righ’... Does she know?”

“Yeah.” Her hand slid up his back to settle on his shoulder. “I told her a few days after we got here.”

“About everythin’?”

“Yeah. I think she could tell something was up, anyway, had been able to for a while. She also thinks I’m hell bent on revenge like her.” Her eyebrows rose slightly as she brushed her fingers against his neck. “Which I suppose I am.”

Jesus, he had missed out on some things.

“Really?”

She smiled slightly. “I just want peace of mind. I just want to know.”

He took her free hand. “You found any sign of him?”

“We’ve interrogated a few and asked them but there are so many Thomas O’Driscolls, though, it’s hard to narrow them down. The ones we’ve caught didn’t seem close enough to Colm to really know anything.” Meeting his gaze, she smiled again. “Anyway, we shouldn’t be talking about me.” 

She cupped his cheek and he leaned in to the touch, so, so grateful to feel it once more. 

“Made you cry, did I,” he said quietly, a corner of his mouth lifting.

She snorted lightly, gazing at him in such a way he felt he didn’t deserve.

“Not just you.” She said it before she could stop herself, taking a breath when he frowned. “Oh... My Faithful was hurt during the fight. I had to shoot him to put him out of his misery.”

His heart dropped.

“Oh, shit, sweetheart, I’m so sorry—”

“No, please...” she cut him off gently, a small smile lifting her features again. “It’s fine. You men just keep breaking my heart, don’t you?”

He exhaled a laugh, caressing her back. “I’m gonna have to make it up to you.”

“You can start by not going anywhere, Morgan.” Her arms wrapped around his neck.

“That I can do, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I’m going to make sure of it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She laughed softly, her fingers brushing against his damp hair. Grazing her teeth over her lower lip, she lowered her voice a little. “Morale’s low, Arthur. Well, _was_ low. I think you all returning will boost things.”

“Well, I ain’t surprised, you all ain’t had it easy.” 

“It’s been okay, just...” She pressed her lips together. “Molly’s gone.”

"What?” He frowned.

Well, shit... That wasn’t good.

Ada shrugged. “She just disappeared, days after we got here. No one seems to mind, though, I think they all seemed quite relieved. And I’m assuming Abigail told you about John?” She sighed as he nodded. “People are worried.”

“I know,” he murmured, “I feel like an ass, I didn’t even have a chance to think about him while we were out there.”

Her fingers stroked his hair. “Well, Sadie and I have tried to think about what to do, while the general consensus has been to just wait for Dutch, whenever he would return.”

The words just came out. “Well, I don’t know if he’s the right person to make a judgement call right now.”

She looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

He shifted a little, his thumb absent-mindedly brushing over her ring. “Somethin’ happened in Guarma.” He laughed shortly. “Well, not just Guarma. The last few months have been bad call after bad call. I can’t blame him all for that, though, it’s also circumstances but... In Guarma, he killed a woman. An old lady. With no good reason. And he... I don’t know if he’s in his right mind, anymore.”

She caressed the back of his neck, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek before murmuring, “You need sleep, Arthur Morgan.”

He smiled, realising it was the first time she’d kissed him. “Yeah, I do.”

Moving off of him carefully, she took his hand once more. “You can have my bedroll. It’s not particularly comfortable, I’m afraid, just an inch off the rickety, old boards, and we don’t have many blankets to go around. Or maybe one of the hammocks would be better—”

He rose, shaking his head. “It’ll be fine. Anythin’ is better than the floor of a boat or Guarma ground.”

She squeezed his hand. “Let’s get you some fresh clothes and something to eat first.”

He was left alone to change and eat, besides Ada sitting right beside him for the latter, though, and he was grateful for it. Charles grinned and hugged him and Sadie slapped him on the back when they returned from hunting, but they just said they were glad he was back and okay before they moved on, leaving him alone. A damn good man and woman. They all asked if he was okay at one point or another but having heard the tale already from Micah, who’d been the first off the boat and first to arrive back, they were all just glad to see he was there, letting him eat as much stew as he wanted.

It started to rain at some point, darkness falling with it, keeping everyone in the main shack, and they were all quiet, Micah, Javier and Arthur, and Uncle, of course, dozing and catching up on their sleep in hammocks while everyone else did the little odd jobs they’d got into the routine of doing. Ada caught Sadie’s eye as they cleaned their guns, sharing a warm, relieved smile.

The quiet didn’t last long, though.

“Dutch! Dutch is here!” Susan cried as she shoved the door to the main cabin open, beaming, her eyes shining.

Dutch van der Linde stepped in to the small cabin to the sound of gasps, cheers and greetings. He smiled widely at all of them, the men waking up with a start and everyone rising out of their seats. 

He could barely get a word out before Abigail was speaking over everyone, words pouring out of her.

“Dutch, Dutch, they got John!”

“Okay, okay,” he said with a gentle chuckle.

“He’s back!” Tilly cried as the men, finally out of their hammocks, entered the main room, grinning, and Uncle cheered.

Arthur rubbed at his eyes before meeting Dutch’s gaze, nodding at him and exchanging weary smiles. Everyone was crowded in the room now, standing in a circle around their king. Arthur stood beside Ada as she folded her arms, lifting her gaze and smiling at him.

He still couldn’t believe it. God, he couldn’t wait until they were alone.

She seemed to be thinking exactly the same thing as her teeth bit at her lower lip and the hint of a smirk appeared. She looked away after a moment, a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks as she turned her attention back to the room. 

Dutch was looking between them all, half in shock, half in exhaustion, shaking his head slightly.

"How’d you folks find each other? What happened?" He chuckled tiredly again. ”Can, can somebody get me a cup of coffee or somethin’?”

Pearson leapt into action, moving to the back of the cabin.

“It was Sadie and Annie who saved us and got us movin’, Dutch,” Tilly beamed, giving each of them a wide smile.

“Yes,” Herr Strauss piped up, “After the robbery in Saint Denis, they got us away from camp before any more Pinkertons could turn up. Then Mrs Adler and Mr Smith drove away the degenerates who were living here!”

Pearson returned, handing Dutch a tin cup of coffee.

“Did they, now.” Dutch looked at Sadie and Charles, smiling gratefully. “Thank you, Mrs Adler, and Mr Smith, we owe you. And...” He looked to Ada then, and... she didn’t like what she saw lingering in his gaze. “Annie. Remind me...” He exhaled a short laugh. “It’s been so long, how did you come by those blueprints of the bank, again?”

Her eyebrows rose, as did several others. She knew where this was going. Had known this was what it would come to, but she kept control. 

“At the party?” She adopted an air of faint confusion. “I went upstairs to investigate what I could and found them on a table in the mayor’s bedroom. Why?”

“What were you doing upstairs?”

This was the Dutch she knew him to be. Smiling, eyes cold.

She frowned slightly. “I just said, investigating. Like we were all there to do.”

“And they were just lying around?”

“Yes. Anyone else could have found them, Dutch. It just so happened to be me.”

“Yes, it did.”

People shifted around them, discomfort filling the air, but she just held his gaze.

“What are you implying, Dutch?”

His jaw moved, a muscle twitching, the smile gone. “I have lost three men. Two dead, one in prison and somebody is to blame for that.”

Anger was rising and she didn’t do much to stop it from seeping in to her tone. “Well, that person isn’t me.”

Silence suddenly descended.

_Oh, fuck._

Then, a voice came from beside her. 

“Hosea mentioned the bank first, Dutch,” Arthur said evenly.

To her left, Sadie nodded. “If she was workin’ for Bronte, Dutch, or anyone else, she would have left. She stayed and worked harder than anyone to keep us goin’ and rebuild.”

The sudden murmurings of agreement from the group seemed to faintly rattle Dutch, to her eyes, anyway. Then, he found her gaze again, and smiled.

“My dear Annie, please forgive me. I believe my weariness from the past few weeks has clouded my judgement. I am sorry.”

She didn’t know how she managed the smile, as light as it was. “Of course, Dutch. I understand.”

Abigail stepped forward, a bowl in her hands. “Come over here and sit down, Dutch, have some food.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

The moment his back turned and conversations resumed, Ada dropped her arms and strode to the back of the cabin. Arthur caught Sadie’s eye and was taken aback to find anger in them. She nodded in the direction Ada had gone, and he headed in it.

Opening the door, the rain lighter, he stepped out onto the jetty that wrapped around the side and back of the shed, finding Ada standing at the wooden railing, her hands gripping it as she stared across the river.

“You all righ’?” he murmured, joining her.

“No.” The word leapt out of her, desperate to finally be released. “No, I’m not.” She inhaled a sharp breath. “Granted, he was partly right in his thinking, of course, I didn’t just find it but I did _not_ do it on purpose, I did _not_ know what it would lead to, I am not responsible for their deaths, I’m _not_.”

He realised, then.

She’d struggled more than she’d let on.

That’s why Sadie had looked so angry.

How many times had she had to convince Ada it hadn’t been her fault?

Had it been duty or guilt fuelling her over the past month?

“It ain’t your fault at all,” Arthur said softly, keeping his gaze on her hard features. “He was talkin’ in Guarma about... he thinks someone’s betrayin’ him.”

“Well, it’s not me.” She nearly spat the words out.

“I know, I know that.” His hand settled over hers, his thumb stroking her skin. “If he really thought it was you he wouldn’t have dropped it.”

“Maybe.”

He could feel how tense she was, _see_ it, but this was going to have to be a conversation for another time. They were too confined, too close to the others.

“Hey,” he murmured, squeezing her hand gently, “Take me to Ophelia, I gotta see my other favourite girl.”

That made the corner of her mouth lift slightly.

“I’m competing with a horse?”

“Yeah, and I ain’t gonna lie, your chances ain’t good.”

He relaxed as she laughed and her fingers laced with his, leading him around to the front of the cabin. “Come on, then, you fool.”

Neither of them heard the quiet boots that moved along the jetty, pausing to watch them disappear out of sight.

Micah smiled as he lit himself a cigarette, his eyes shifting across to the river, watching the water move.

* * *

Ophelia, quite rightly, was slightly put-out when Arthur and Ada approached her. She tossed her head and whinnied loudly, snorting and eyeing Arthur.

“Hey, girl,” he murmured, releasing his hold on Ada so he could stroke Ophelia’s neck and forehead. “Hey, I’m sorry, I know, you’re all righ’, though...”

She’d told him earlier about how Sadie and Karen had found her at Shady Belle when they’d gone back to the house a few days after the failed robbery to see if any of the men were there. Men _were_ there, but not their men. Luckily, Ophelia was smart enough to evade them and bolt away, and the two women had gone after her, finding her in a patch of woods. 

The men had been Pinkertons, and they’d soon found out after a few trips back that the men would visit the house seemingly every day, even all this time later. Sadie and someone else would still go, though, to see if any clues were left, and it was Sadie who left a letter the last time they went, knowing making so many trips was risky.

Ophelia quickly settled, pushing her muzzle against him and snorting quietly. He smiled, continuing to murmur to her. Ada couldn’t stop her own smile as she watched, before another whinny drew her attention.

"Who’s this?” she asked, raising her eyebrows as she spotted the Hungarian-Halfbred. 

Arthur glanced over, stroking his hand down Ophelia’s neck. “Ah, that’s my new friend. Hijacked her from Van Horn to get here.”

“Oh?” Her smile widened as she stepped towards the horse, stroking her fingertips against her forehead. “Well, I think I owe you a thank you and debt of gratitude, then.”

“Have her.”

Her eyebrows rose as she looked at him, patting the horse’s neck. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. She’s good, solid, not a racer but got a good speed to her.”

“Well, thank you.” Her lips twitched as she scratched behind the horse’s ear. “You know, most women get jewellery.”

“I’ll steal that next time.”

She exhaled a laugh, her smile lingering as she gazed at the horse. “Hello,” she murmured as the tall piebald nudged at her arm. “I’ll have to think of what to call you. I suppose Lucky is a little too on the nose...” Raising her voice slightly so Arthur could hear, she said, ”What about Maggie? I always liked that name. Mags for short.”

“I like it.” He opened his mouth to continue, when his gaze suddenly darted over her shoulder and he frowned.

“Bill?”

Turning, Ada watched Bill stomp towards them, pissed off as always, his beard somehow bigger.

“Oh, thank _God_ , _here_ is where you all is!”

Arthur sighed and approached, waving him towards the main shack. “All righ’, all righ’, Christ, come on, inside. There’s hot food and coffee.”

“Oh, thank _God_...” Bill sped up, moving ahead of them.

Ada laughed under her breath as she watched him, and Arthur joined her at her side. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, her’s going around his waist, they walked up to the shack together.

“Glad to have us all back, huh?”

She snorted.“Hmmh... Things will certainly be interesting again.”

When they reached the shack and entered, Bill was still grumbling on to everyone.

“... asked everyone I could find and _eventually_ someone knew! Said you fools were out here.”

He didn’t seem to realise everyone was staring at him, and Ada felt her stomach twist.

_Oh, fuck..._

“Shit, get me a drink or somethin’!” he said to Sadie, the woman clearly seething.

“Get your own damn drink!” Sadie shot back.

“In our absence,” Dutch cut in before Bill could speak, his tone sharp, “Mrs Adler here has been looking after things. Now _sit down_.”

Bill clenched his jaw, but seemed very much cowed, and went to sit down, when the voice rang out.

“This is Agent Milton with the Pinkerton Detective Agency!”

Ada closed her eyes as people shot to their feet or hissed out a curse.

_Oh,_ **_fuck..._**

“Already?” Dutch muttered, shocked, as she felt Arthur move behind her to peer out of a hole in the wood.

“Awh, shit...” he hissed.

“On behalf of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar,” Milton was carrying on, “the United States Government and the Commonwealth of West Elizabeth...”

“Here we go,” Dutch sighed as people drew or grabbed their guns.

“... we are here to arrest you! Come out with your hands up!”

Arthur had his back against the door, and was shrugging at Dutch as Ada turned, her jaw clenched. Arthur then moved to a window and before he could say a word to her, he was just left watching her stride to the back of the cabin as he heard Milton shout, “Let ‘em have it!”

Bullets instantly began thudding against the wood, flying through the open window and embedding into the wall.

“Get down!” Dutch yelled, and Arthur dove to the floor, watching Ada crawl across the floor to the back door.

“Arthur!” He looked to his right and saw Sadie moving, too. “Arthur, follow me!”

Gritting his teeth, he moved behind her, the bullets relentless.

“Asked everyone you could find, did you, Bill?!” he yelled as they passed the cursing man.

For once, the man had nothing to snap back, his face red.

“This is real bad!” Sadie called to him as they continued on, Ada already out of the door, rising to her feet.

He heard Tilly and Mary-Beth scream as the bullets were just _not stopping_.

And, yes... there was the unmistakable sound of a Gatling Gun.

“Stay down, all of you!” he shouted, when a bullet hit a lantern beside him, bursting into flames. Gritting his teeth as he and Sadie reached the door, passing through it and closing it behind them, he released a sharp breath, looking to her... and he then realised she was looking to Ada, the woman waiting for them, a revolver from her belt in her hand.

“Come on, this way,” she murmured, moving along the jetty. 

“Where are we goin’?” Arthur said, keeping his voice down as they kept low, darting across the wooden boards.

“This way,” Ada answered, moving to the right, “There’s a trapdoor into the other house.”

“We can try to flank ‘em,” Sadie added.

Then, Ada dropped out of sight, and he noticed it a moment later; a square cut out of the jetty, revealing the muddy bank below. Sadie dropped down next, then him and he just followed them as they moved quickly under the stilts and wooden boars that kept the jetty and shacks up. The gang was firing back, he could hear, the sound deafening.

There was suddenly a square of light a few feet away and they ran to it, Ada lifting herself up through it first, then Sadie then him.

“Come on, quick,” Sadie murmured to him as they made it into the house.

“You fools weren’t listening to me, were you?” they could hear Milton shouting as Sadie took one side of the front doors and Ada took the other, Arthur joining her. “I showed mercy... you mistook it for weakness!”

Sadie met Ada’s gaze when, suddenly, there was silence.

“Why've they stopped shootin’?” she hissed as Ada paused, straining to hear.

“Now...” Milton continued, his voice ringing out. “... I will show strength, and you may mistake it for brutality. There is no escape for any of you! I shall hunt you to the ends of the earth and to the end of time!”

Arthur, peering through a gap in the wood, staring at Milton, felt rage surge within him.

_Not on this fuckin’ day._

Not when he’d just got those he loved dear back.

“This idiot is _really_ startin’ to irritate me...” he murmured, his jaw tight.

Still Milton was continuing. “I’ve killed your friends, and I’ve enjoyed killing them!”

And that was it.

Pushing away from the wood, he moved passed Ada, caught the rifle Sadie threw to him and kicked the doors open.

“... and now I’m gonna kill each—” Milton started to say.

“Arthur, wait!” Ada called.

But it was too late.

“Come on!” he yelled, aiming and firing instantly.

He killed the man at the Gatling Gun as he heard Sadie and Ada firing, and shots started to come from the main shack, too. The Pinkertons scrambled for cover as he saw Ada move to his right, her body in front of his, and, God damn, did she shoot, both revolvers in her hands now.

“We need to push ‘em back!” he shouted, but the two women were already doing just that, their turn to be relentless now as they stepped forward with every Pinkerton body that went down.

The lanterns did just enough to illuminate the Pinkertons in the darkness beyond, and he didn’t think, just all hate and pain and rage for Hosea, Lenny and John.

“Take them down!” Milton was screaming, but he sounded far off.

_God damn_ **_coward_ ** _._

“They’re comin’ from the side!” Sadie yelled. “Come on, let’s push ‘em back, keep goin’!”

“Don’t think for one minute you’re gonna have all the fun by yourselves!” Bill called out from behind them.

He had come out of the main house now, joining them and firing at the new wave of men approaching. They all took their own route through the wagons and sheds, fanning out and crouching and rising to dodge bullets and shoot back.

“Get them, _get them_ , **_get them_**!” Milton thundered, but he sounded even further off, possibly retreating.

_Good._

“They’re hidin’ in the trees!” Arthur called out. “Get after ‘em!” 

They used the darkness to their advantage now, hunting the men down. Bullets struck the trees around him, not one finding their mark.

“We’ll kill every last one of ya!” Sadie yelled from somewhere close by, and she ran past him suddenly, overtaking him.

“I have had it with you bastards!” Bill was also shouting, but Ada, wherever she was, was silent.

_Oh, God, please..._

Then, he saw her, far up to the right, aiming and shooting, aiming and shooting, her features like pure, relentless thunder. There would be the fire burning in her eyes and, God, he had missed her.

“We need someone back here!” he suddenly heard Dutch from back behind them. “They’re comin’ down the main path!”

He saw Ada lift her head, and she started to stride towards the path.

“There’s more of them! Get on the Gatling Gun, Arthur!” she called to him as she broke out into a run.

He started running instantly. Shouldering the rifle, he pulled himself up into the wagon holding the gun as Sadie followed after him, using the wagon as cover, and to protect him. Swinging the gun around, he fired at the main path, feeling the power of the Gatling shaking his arms.

The Pinkertons shouted to each other, ducking for cover or even trying to run back, but he could see, behind a thick tree, Ada shooting them down.

“More on the left here!” Bill called.

“And to the right!” Sadie joined in.

“Keep your head down, I’m swingin’ this around!” Arthur shouted. “Keep your heads down!”

His people ducked and he fired in a circle, knocking down several of the remaining men.

“There’s more of them moving in!” Charles called, out of the shack now and somewhere in the darkness.

“Charles, this way!” he heard Ada yell from somewhere else.

He was distracted by the Gatling juddering slightly, out of bullets. Leaping over the side of the wagon, he shrugged the rifle off of his shoulder and joined Sadie, helping her on her side.

Suddenly, there was a small explosion to the left, and he and Sadie jerked, their heads whipping to it. Ada and Charles rose out of the darkness, shooting at the men who tried to scramble from the flames.

“That’s it! Run, you spineless sons of bitches!” Bill hollered, and, yes, Arthur could see them, retreating and running for the darkness.

Charles and Ada didn’t seem in merciful moods, though. They followed after them and Arthur watched man after man fall.

“Arthur!” Sadie’s voice caught his attention. Turning to her, he found her smiling. “We did it! That’s the last of ‘em!”

Then, there was silence.

Not allowing a sigh of relief yet, he squeezed Sadie’s shoulder as they rose, his gaze darting between the trees.

“I think you might be righ’...”

They moved to the main path, keeping a tight grip on their weapons.

“Annie? Charles?” he called out, seeing no sign of them.

Then, he saw them, moving up the path towards them.

“Here!” Ada called, a smile pulling at her lips as Charles walked by her side.

All the tension left his body as he blew out a breath, Sadie chuckling beside him, and Ada smiled, looking up at Charles who returned it. He patted her on the back as they neared and she said something Arthur couldn’t hear that made him chuckle.

“Well, that was a nice bit of excitement,” Sadie sighed cheerfully as she turned and headed back to the shed, Bill close behind her. Charles patted Arthur on the arm as he passed, Ada stopping before him, her smile lingering.

“You all righ’?” he asked, his tone softening.

“Just fine. You?”

“Yeah.”

The smirk returned to her lips, and he opened his mouth to speak when she closed the distance between them and gripped the front of his shirt, keeping him close as she tilted her head back, rose up on her toes and captured his lips.

His arm instantly went around her, keeping her tight against him as he revelled in every second of the kiss. She hummed against his lips, a sound akin to a moan, and he fisted her shirt, answering with a groan.

God, he had missed her, missed _this_ , missed just being around her and feeling her and—

“Hey!”

They drew their heads back and looked to Sadie, a grin on her lips and an eyebrow arched. “C’mon, get in here, ya love birds.”

“Yeah, thank you for ruining that, we’re coming!” Ada called as Arthur chuckled.

“You’re welcome!” came the jovial response as Sadie disappeared inside the shack. 

The rain started to pick up a little again as they moved towards the house, arms around each other.

When they were a few feet away, though, Dutch stepped out onto the jetty and moved down the few steps towards them, Micah close behind him.

“You saved us, Arthur,” Dutch said, looking very weary as he surveyed the bodies and mess.

“Well, me ‘nd Annie, Sadie, Bill ‘nd Charles,” he answered, keeping his arm around Ada who was silent.

“Yes, indeed,” Dutch smiled, meeting his gaze.

“Well,” Micah said, sitting on a step. “We ain’t been back for more than a few hours, and look at this...”

“What do we do, Dutch?” Arthur said without thinking. Force of habit, and he felt it.

“Well, clearly we need to leave,” Dutch said, a slight bite to his tone. “It’ll take them sometime to regroup.”

Micah was suddenly off the step, approaching Dutch with his hands on his hips.

_Damn idiot’s tryna look like he’s part of the organisin’._

“Mr Pearson, Miss Grimshaw,” Dutch continued, calling back up to the shack as people looked out, “start packin’ up. Javier, you and Bill, get outta here. Go and scare off any scum still loiterin’ about. We need a couple of days...” He took a breath, then his shoulders dropped as he waved his hand. “Now go, please, gentlemen!”

They left with their instructions, leaving Micah, Arthur, Ada, Sadie and Abigail around him.

“What next, Dutch?” Arthur murmured, his eyes remaining on Dutch because... there didn’t seem to be much of a plan.

Dutch braced his hands against the wagon beside him, leaning against it as he released a breath. “We just need some time, I just, I, I need some time,” he stuttered slightly. “Now, we can’t go east, ‘cause then we’ll be in the ocean, so we’re gonna have to go north, I guess?” Arthur chest hurt as he looked at him fumble for an answer. “I just need somebody to buy me some,” his tone rose slightly as he slammed his fist down on the wagon, “God damn time, one of you.” He straightened, looking between them but not quite meeting their eyes.

“You’ll figure it out, boss,” Micah said gently, “You always do.”

“What are you gonna do about John, Dutch?” Abigail piped up, and, God damn, Arthur could _see_ him being overwhelmed.

“John?” Dutch said, his gaze finding her.

Abigail frowned slightly. “He’s in jail.”

“W-we’ll get him, Abigail,” Dutch stammered even as he raised his hands in what once would have been a soothing gesture. “Just not, not yet.”

“There’s talk of _hangin_ ’ him,” Abigail shot back, her tone now rising.

“It’s not gonna come to that,” Dutch dismissed as he turned away.

“Dutch!” Abigail called after him, and Arthur felt Ada beside him, stiff and unmoving.

Dutch was already walking away, though, heading up to the shack, Micah following him. “Not now, Miss, I...” He waved his hand without turning. “... Not now.”

They watched him disappear inside. Before any of them could speak, Abigail turned to them suddenly, her eyes shining as she lowered her voice.

“I’m _beggin’_ you three, he’s...” She swallowed, looking between them. “... They’re gonna hang him. It would break my...” She looked away from them as she shook her head. “... the boy’s heart.” She looked back to them. “ _Please_ do something.”

“We will,” Sadie murmured, squeezing her arm in reassurance.

Abigail nodded, swallowed and then turned and walked away quickly, her arms folding.

Arthur blew out a breath as he met Sadie’s gaze.

“Okay,” she murmured to them, “That’s it, I’m gonna go figure out how we rescue this bastard.”

“Now?” Arthur asked quietly.

“Yes, now,” she insisted, “I’ll go into Saint Denis, see what I can find out.”

“Okay,” Ada answered before Arthur could, her tone just as quiet. “Will you be back for the morning?”

“Oh, you know I will,” the other woman replied, a grin pulling at her lips. “Damn, I’ve missed all this excitement.”

Ada smiled as Sadie nodded at them before striding for her horse. “A one woman army,” she murmured, drawing a chuckle from Arthur.

“That she is.”

Taking in a breath, Ada looked up at him and took his hand. “Right, then, bed for you, cowboy.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

* * *

“This is close, ain’t it?”

“What was it before?”

He snorted, settling on his side, his back to the thin cloth that acted as a curtain between them and the other ladies and Jack. Luckily, they were all asleep by now, exhausted from the excitement and activities of the day. The wooden boards a foot or so away was scorched from where the lantern had erupted earlier, but it was still intact and sturdy. Ada stepped across it, glancing out of the window, before she crouched and moved under the small, raised platform above that Sadie used to sleep on. Unbuckling her gunbelt and placing it to the side, she then untucked her blouse from her skirt and lay beside him, her back to his chest. His arm went around her, holding her against him.

She exhaled a long breath as her hand slid under his, making their fingers lace together.

“What a God damn mess...” he murmured after a few moments.

She hummed her agreement, and he wished he could see her face.

“Don’t think about that now, just get some rest.”

He was only quiet for less than a minute.

“I didn’t know if you’d still be here.”

He felt her hand tighten on his slightly.

“Of course I’m still here.”

Christ, the way she said it, the conviction... He wished it was just them two. He wished he could just... He wanted to put his mouth on her, to relearn all of her and just—

“I’ve got your journal.”

“Really?”

He could hear the smile in her weary voice. “Yeah. It’s one of the things that was saved. Mary-Beth ran up and got it.”

He paused. “Did you read it?”

She shook her head slightly. “No. Didn’t feel right to.”

“You should’ve.”

“Why?”

“Could’ve told you what I stupidly didn’t. How much you mean to me.”

She was quiet for several moments, to the point where he thought she might have fallen asleep and not heard him. He was about to close his eyes when she moved their hands up and pressed a long, lingering kiss to the back of his hand.

“Sleep now,” she whispered, tucking their hands under her chin.

* * *

The early morning light spilled in through the window, growing moment by moment. She could see dust dancing in it, endlessly falling. She followed the beam, her gaze reaching his features, the sunlight illuminating him in the semi-darkness of the shack.

She didn’t take her eyes off of him as she pulled her blouse on.

She’d missed him. Almost unbearably. She’d cried night after night after night as quietly as she could behind one of the shacks, face in her hands. Sadie had known, obviously. She’d given her her space, though, which she’d greatly appreciated.

Arthur wasn’t a distraction. He wasn’t something to take her mind off of her anxieties and irritations, he was... He was everything. He was what she wanted, what she needed, and everything that lay in between.

The separation had revealed that to her. It had also revealed that she could live this life nearly on her own, could look after and lead people, but she didn’t want to. She wanted someone, him, by her side.

And what he’d said last night... She thought her heart was going to burst.

She couldn’t help but think, then, of the girl she’d been before, the girl from Strawberry, the girl who’d wished and waited for more.

_If only I could tell you what was coming._

And there was still more to come. More unnecessary gambles and putting people’s lives on the line, and Dutch... Something had changed in him, rather visibly, and Arthur had noticed it, too, even before what had occurred with the Pinkertons the previous night.

She thought she would have revelled in that moment, when he told her his doubts about Dutch. Would have had to have stopped herself from saying ‘ _I told you so_ ’, but she had just felt... sad. It wasn’t the victory she had dreamed about. Despite all she and Sadie had done, leadership was now well and truly back in Dutch’s hands, even if he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. She’d had to bite her tongue when he’d looked all them all, helpless and without a plan.

The kingdom was falling, and the king was the cause.

She’d have to talk with Sadie and Arthur, plan what their next and final move should be because this couldn’t carry on any longer.

Arthur jolted awake beside her suddenly, making her blink and return to the present. She watched as he realised and remembered where he was before his eyes found hers. She smiled softly, finishing buttoning up her blouse.

“Good morning,” she murmured.

“Hey.” He rubbed at his eyes groggily, taking her in. She was out of the blouse and skirt from the day before, now in trousers and a cream blouse, her gunbelt back around her waist. “Where’re you goin’?”

“Sadie and I heard about an O’Driscoll camp not too far from here the other day. We planned to go and check it out this morning.”

He swallowed, his throat dry. “Okay, but we gotta move on.”

She reached over and pulled her boots closer, pulling them on. “Yeah, but that probably won’t happen ‘till tomorrow morning, though. We have to figure out where to go, exactly. Be smart about our next move because we can’t take another surprise like last night.”

He gazed at her, feeling both sad and in awe.

There was the leader she’d had to become.

Clearing his throat, he leaned up on an elbow. “D’you want me to come?”

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she finished lacing one boot and started on the other. “No, thank you. This is ladies business.”

“Ah, I understand.” He smiled, scratching at his beard.

_God, I need a shave._

She finished lacing her boot and reached over to take a sheathed knife that lay on a folded pile of her clothes. It wasn’t the one Sean had given her, he noted as she pushed it into her boot.

“Hey.”

She looked to him as she finished tying her hair back with a black ribbon, raising her eyebrows a little.

“C’mere.”

Her smile returned as she leaned down at his murmured request and pressed her lips to his. He couldn’t help but groan quietly, his hand moving around to settle on her lower back to draw her closer. He felt her smile widen a little against his lips as her fingertips brushed under his chin.

“I have to go...” she murmured, doing very little to actually pull away.

“One more minute won’t hurt,” he drawled, his fingers caressing her back.

She exhaled a laugh, pulling her head back just slightly. “Do you want Sadie bursting in here?”

“ _Hell_ no,” he muttered as he released her, making her laugh again as she pulled back.

“Well, then...” She pulled a thin, dark brown jacket on as she arched an eyebrow. “Besides, you need to rest. _Sleep_ , Arthur Morgan.”

“I know what I need.”

She did her very best to look scandalised as she swatted his caressing hand away, smiling. “ _Plenty_ of rest before any of that.”

There was a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Why, I don’t have to do any movin’.”

She gave a quiet gasp of disbelief even as she grinned, shaking her head. “You are a scoundrel.”

“You love it.”

Before she could respond, he leaned up and settled a hand on the back of her neck, pulling her closer and kissing her again. Her body instantly relaxing and pressing against his did wonders for his ego. Yet, alas, a few moments later she broke the kiss and licked her lips to hide a smile.

“Come on, Morgan, let me go.”

“If I have to,” he grumbled, releasing her and watching her as she got to her feet, moving out from under the platform.

She grinned at how put-out he looked.

_Like a cat that hadn’t been fed the moment it was hungry._

Ada pressed her lips together, though, when he also pushed himself up, grunting as he hit his head on the platform and muttering out a curse. Stepping out from under the platform, he rubbed his head and nodded towards the front of the shack.

“C’mon, I’ll see you out.”

Her hand found his as they walked out into the cool, damp morning air, the trees too thick to allow much light in to warm and harden the mud. She was about to turn to him and order him back to bed when Dutch’s voice sounded.

“White to D4...”

They turned together, finding Dutch sat on a chair on the jetty to their left, looking out across the water. Ada released Arthur’s hand as he frowned, watching the older man move his hands slightly as he stared out.

“... White to D4...”

She patted his arm and met his gaze, smiling lightly, then walked down the steps, giving him space. Rolling his shoulders, he took a breath and approached the man.

“You okay, there?” he asked gently.

“Workin’ it all out,” Dutch responded, not looking at him. “Once and for _all_ , Arthur.”

Arthur hummed, leaning back against the railing and folding his arms, watching Dutch closely. “What now?”

Dutch’s gaze shifted to him. “We’re back... And I’m sittin’ here, and I am contemplatin’ the great journey of the sun, and considerin’ a famous chess move.” Arthur scratched his beard, his gaze briefly rising to meet Ada’s a little way off, her eyebrows raised. Dutch didn’t notice, his eyes back on the water as he continued. “Those oily enactors of a mediocre justice, the Pinkertons and their benefactor, the depressing millionaire Leviticus Cornwall, they _want us_ , Arthur.” His voice had risen in agitation, his fists clenched. “They _want_ us, and they are goin’ to _have_ _us_.”

Arthur kept his own tone light. “Well, maybe they ain’t the problem.”

“Meanin’?” Dutch snapped.

He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, it’s just, well...” He chuckled slightly, then paused. “... I can’t help but feel we would’ve been better runnin’ off someplace else.”

Dutch now chuckled. “But the, the game ain’t over, Arthur. I mean, I ain’t, I ain’t played my, my final move but...”

As he trailed off slightly, Arthur had to stop himself from gritting his teeth. “I guess I’m more interested in savin’ lives than winnin’ at chess.”

“Then maybe life ain’t such a thing to cling onto so tightly!”

“No doubt,” Arthur quickly said, before gesturing towards the shack. “But what about the women?”

Dutch paused then, his hands dropping to his lap. He was quiet for a few moments. “You sound like Hosea,” he murmured, his voice cracking slightly. “I miss...” He took a breath, raising his eyes to the sky. “... him.”

It broke Arthur’s heart because, God, he did, too, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t back down. “I asked you a question.”

Dutch looked at him. “What do you think?”

Arthur shook his head. “We can’t stay here. That much is obvious. But where are we gonna run to? I mean they chased us from the west, they chased us over the mountains, they ran us into the _sea_ —”

“Arthur...” Dutch had closed his eyes for a few moments, rubbing his temple. He looked at him. “... do you have my back?”

Arthur looked at him, his hands on his belt. He felt _angry_. “Always, Dutch... but there’s more than your back to worry about.” Dutch looked away but Arthur carried on. “We need more money. We’ve been on the run for months now, and I seen you...” He lowered his voice as he leaned closer, some of the anger seeping in to his tone. “... killin’ folk in cold blood, like you always told me not to!” His voice had risen, though, as Dutch stood, shaking his head and stepping away, resting his hands on the railing. _Still_ he carried. “And, I’m sorry, but I think that if we listened to Annie and Sa—”

“There is country in Roanoke Ridge, past Butcher Creek, I believe we could hold,” Dutch spoke over him.

Arthur couldn’t help it, the sense of relief that there _was_ a plan of some kind. “Okay.”

“And you and Charles, you could take folks up that way. Micah...” Dutch trailed off for a moment, looking across the water. “... and I need to do some reconnaissance. I ain’t got a final plan, yet.” He turned to Arthur suddenly. “Arthur, I ain’t got a...” He trailed off again. “... I just need time.” He looked at him. “I need time, and no traitors.”

Arthur just looked at him, silent. Then, he turned and moved away, heading towards Ada.

She watched Dutch, his gaze dropping as he sat back down, his back to them. Her eyes slid to Arthur’s, her jaw clenched. She’d had to hold her tongue from snapping that Arthur needed rest, they _all_ did, he and Micah included, and that she and Sadie could handle things, like that had been doing.

Her heart had fluttered slightly when Arthur had started to suggest that, but, there would always be only one leader here. Inclining her head, she gestured for Arthur to follow her as she turned and headed for the horses. Raising her gaze, she saw Sadie coming down the main path, raising her hand to acknowledge her as she drew her horse to a halt.

Arthur sighed heavily as he neared, running a hand down his mouth.

“Do you know it?” he asked quietly, watching her as she adjusted the stirrups on Maggie’s saddle. “Roanoke Ridge?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, taking a Repeater from the shed beside them and slotting it into the holster on the saddle. “There’s some caves up there, the locals call it Beaver Hollow.” She paused, then turned to him. “Be careful.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “We will.”

“I mean it. I don’t like it up there, Arthur, it’s...” She shrugged slightly. “It just feels strange. Charles and Sadie have run into the people who occupy the caves, the Murfree Brood, a couple of times, as I’m sure Charles will tell you, but...” She released a breath, gazing at him. “... Be vigilant, please.”

He stepped closer, his gentle smile returning. “Always am.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly, but she couldn’t help her own small smile. “We both know that’s a lie, Arthur Morgan.” She placed a hand on his chest, patting gently. “See you later.”

He caught her arm gently as she went to turn, drawing her closer. “Hey...”

She leaned into the soft kiss he claimed her lips with, her eyes falling shut. Sadie’s distant, pointed cough made her pull back after several moments, her smile wider. Gripping Maggie’s saddle, she pulled herself up and gathered the reins, gazing down at him.

Patting the horse’s neck, his smile lingered. “Come back to me, Miss Sawyer.”

“I will,” she answered, her features softening, before she turned Maggie as he stepped away, and headed for Sadie.

Arthur gripped his belt as he watched them, Sadie grinning at her and tossing her a couple of boxes of ammunition as she neared.

He watched them ride off, a tightening and anxiety in his chest he hadn’t felt before.

* * *

It had been far too easy rounding them up. Ada paced before the six kneeling men, tapping her revolver against her leg.

“I’m gonna ask again, and I’ll warn you, I’m really running out of patience.” She stopped in the middle of them, sighing. “Do any of you know Thomas O’Driscoll?”

A greying man tutted as he pulled a face. “Shit, you probably shot five Thomas O’Driscoll’s here, lady.”

She looked at him. “Colm O’Driscoll’s nephew. That Thomas O’Driscoll.”

There was silence, the men glancing at each other or staring at the ground suddenly. Ada glanced at Sadie who arched an eyebrow. That was different. The men would usually holler that they didn’t know a damn thing or plead that they didn’t know anything.

Ada returned her attention to them, looking from man to man. “Who can tell me where he is?”

The silence continued.

“Don’t make this hard for yourselves, boys,” Sadie called from behind her.

One of the men lifted his head and looked behind her, to Sadie, she thought. Then, he shot to his feet.

“Get ‘em, lads!”

“ _Shit_ ,” Ada hissed as the men scattered and she spun, seeing a group of men running through the trees towards them, firing.

“Fuck, they must have gone out huntin’!” Sadie called as they ran for cover.

Darting behind trees, Ada gritted her teeth as the men they’d had captured moments before found their guns and joined in the firing. Flinching as bullets flew past them, some striking their trees, she looked to Sadie.

“Shit, there’s too many of ‘em, we better go!” Sadie called to her.

“We should spilt up and draw them off so they don’t follow us back to camp!”

Sadie nodded, gripping her rifle. “All righ’, I’ll meet you in Van Horn!”

“All right, be careful! I’ll give you cover!”

The trees were close enough together that Sadie could dodge bullets as she ran, weaving between them. Ada leaned out, firing at men. They were also hiding behind trees, though, giving no one an advantage. Bullets came from behind her, and she knew Sadie was firing to give her cover, so, taking a breath, she lunged to the left and ran. They had found the men at a top of the hill, so she took the route down the incline, sliding down it slightly.

“Go on, get ‘er! We got the other one!” 

_Oh, shit. Well, now I know the plan worked..._

She sprinted as she reached the bottom, the men who were following her, mercifully, not firing. She and Sadie had left their horses some way back, near the road so they wouldn’t have drawn attention, but how the hell would she get to them from here?

She veered left suddenly, hoping she was going somewhat in the right direction.

“No, don’t, wait!”

_No, thanks, I think I’ll keep running_ —

Something landed a little way behind her, and there was an almighty explosion. She grunted as the ground shifted beneath her, the force of it knocking her to the floor. She felt the heat of it on her back, the dust and dirt it threw up filling her lungs. Gasping in a breath, she grabbed the revolver that had fallen out of her hand and crawled forward, quickly pulling herself behind a boulder.

Coughing in to her arm to try and muffle the sound, she closed her eyes at the sound of movement several feet away.

“That’s his fuckin’ _niece_ , you _fuckin’ idiot_! He’s been _lookin’ for her_!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know! Please, don’t, I—”

She jumped as a gunshot went off and a body fell, frozen in her spot.

_Oh, Jesus Christ._


	16. Time Will Take It's Toll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

Inhaling a breath had her coughing into her arm for a few moments and clearing her throat. The explosion had knocked the wind out of her, and her lungs were still complaining about it. Her leg was starting to ache from all the running and how she’d fallen, too.

She’d managed to slip away from the men shortly after they realised the explosion hadn’t killed her, scattering to try and find where she’d gone. She’d just sat there for a little while, regaining control of her breathing, of her pounding heart, then got up and run.

_He’s been looking for me._

Sniffing and lifting her head, Ada let Mags walk idly down the main and only street of Van Horn. It was, as always, quiet. A couple of men sat on the porch outside a shop, talking and smoking. A man lay by the water, sat up against a rock, asleep.

Sadie waved to her from outside the bar, her mustard coloured shirt acting like a beacon amongst the dark and dinginess of the town, and Ada raised her hand in greeting.

“You okay?” the older woman asked as she approached, gently pulling Mags to a stop.

“Yeah. Some idiot thought playing with dynamite would be fun, though.”

“Yeah, I heard. Was gonna come back to see if you were alive but I thought you’d be fine.”

Ada laughed, inclining her head. “Yeah, well, I seem to be. Think I’ve got some dust in my chest but what’s new.”

Sadie nodded her head in the direction of the saloon doors. “Want to get a drink?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Here, are you kidding me?”

Sadie smiled as she pushed her hat onto her head and mounted her horse. “Thought you might say that.”

“Hey, hey, wait a second!”

The two women turned to the calling voice, Ada stiffening, Sadie arching an eyebrow. A man narrowed his eyes at them, his hands on his hips as he stood from the bench where he’d been talking with another man.

“Yeah?” Sadie answered.

“That’s my _horse!_ ”

Ada answered this time, relieved. “No, it isn’t.”

“Yeah, it is,” the man insisted, his voice cracking. “That’s Louisa!”

“No, it ain’t,” Sadie drawled.

“Yes, it _is_ , now you give her back, you damn wh—”

The women settled their hands on their guns.

The man froze, glanced at the weapons, then smiled quickly.

“Y-yeah, I guess not, sorry, my eyes ain’t so good,” he laughed nervously, lowering back down onto the bench.

“That’s all right, friend, no harm done,” Ada called cheerily, realising faintly that Arthur had said nearly those exact words several times.

_Well, look at me._

Sadie chuckled as they rode out of the tiny town, shaking her head. “I love people sometimes.”

Ada snorted. “All right, I feel a little bad.”

“Don’t. He called her Louisa, that’s reason enough for him not to have her.”

“What do you have against the name Louisa?”

“Nothin’, just a dumb name for a horse.”

* * *

Charles came back for them all an hour or so after she and Sadie returned, safe and fine, and he reassured her so was Arthur.

Ada dismounted Mags, stroking the horse’s neck gently as her eyes scanned their new home. Well... The new camp would have to do, no matter what she thought, and she thought it wasn’t much of a home anymore. She’d arrived a little behind the others, just in case they’d been followed, so they’d had some time to set up but... It seemed no one had taken the care they used to in doing so. Tents and tables were set up but nothing more, the wagons hadn’t been unpacked properly and she couldn’t place that down to lack of time or people as everyone was either sat or lying down.

_They expect to move on soon_ , she realised, _very soon_.

Her gaze found Arthur’s as she approached where he had been talking with Dutch, and he moved towards her.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered, smiling at the sight of him. He’d shaved, _thank God_.

“Not much, is it?” He’d clearly had the same thoughts.

“It’ll do, I suppose.” Her arms wrapped around his waist as his went around her, holding her close.

“Are you okay?” she murmured, her fingers stroking his back.

“Yeah. You were righ’, they’re strange folks, those Murfrees.” 

She snorted. “You’re damn right.”

A corner of his mouth twisted up before he lowered his head and captured her lips in a kiss she knew they both needed. It lingered, deepening as his arms tightened around her. She smiled against his lips, half-heartedly trying to draw her head back.

“Arthur...”

“Lot of caves down there, lots of secret passages...”

She arched an eyebrow as his lips went to her cheek, unable to stop a smile. “If you think I’m gonna be able to relax in those caves after what Charles told me...”

“I can make you forget all that, though...”

“Stop it...” she laughed, trying to turn her head away from his sinful lips even as her stomach tightened at the thought. It had been so long since they’d been alone, all she’d had when he was away was thoughts and memories and—

“ _Hey_.”

They both stiffened, their heads lifting as Arthur automatically half-turned his back to shield her.

Molly, Christ, _Molly_ , came stumbling down the path. If she hadn’t clearly been drunk Ada would have thought she'd spent the last few weeks living in luxury with her skin and clothes being clean and neat and her hair perfect.

“So, Dutch!” she called out, “Did ye miss me?!” She stumbled closer to them, Dutch only a few feet away. Ada glanced at him, finding his features stony.

“I found her, drunk in Saint Denis,” Uncle was explaining somewhat apologetically, trying to keep up with her.

“You’re back. How jolly, Miss O’Shea,” Dutch retorted sarcastically, stepping closer.

“It’s ‘Molly’, _you sack of shit!_ ” she cried, rage pouring out of her.

“Back and _drunk_.”

“Who made you the _master_ , the _Lord Almighty!_ ”

“Molly, _calm down_ ,” he demanded as she waved her arms around.

The gang had gathered now, everyone staring and not knowing what to do, Ada included. She felt Arthur beside her, silent and tense.

“I won’t be ignored, _Dutch van der Linde!_ I hear all ye conversations! I hear all ye whisperin’! But I won’t be ignored! I aren’t _him!_ ” She pointed at Bill. “Thick as _shit_ but would probably turn ye over in a _heartbeat!_ ” She turned, swaying, and pointed at Mary-Beth who looked so distraught. “I ain’t _her!_ Ye’re little _whore!_ ” Then, she turned to Ada, pointing at her. “And I ain’t her, ye bloody O’Driscoll, thinkin’ ye’re holy than thou!” 

Ada felt her heart drop into her stomach as she stared at her, a terrified coldness sweeping over her body. Molly just turned to Dutch. “I ain’t _any_ of your stooges!”

“Calm yourself, _miss!_ ” Dutch was angry now, _truly_ angry.

“You don’t owe me _nothin’!_ ” She was squaring up to him now. “I don’t owe you _nothin’!_ _Nothin’!_ Even though I did all ye’re dirty work!”

“Okay, _okay_ ,” he said, suddenly trying to calm her as much as himself, probably.

She wasn’t having it as she turned away. “I’d spit in yer eye!” Then, she turned back, pointing at him and looking as if something just suddenly came to her. “I did! _I told them!_ ” she shouted.

The mood shifted very sharply.

“I’m sorry?” Dutch hissed, staring at her.

“Yeah, I told ‘em! And I’d tell ‘em again! Now I’ve got _God’s_ ear!”

“You told _who what?_ ” he demanded, thunderous.

“ _Mr Milton and Mr Ross_ ,” she practically trilled, waving her hand, “about the _bank robbery_ , and I wanted them to _kill ye!_ ” She thrust her finger at him.

Something inside Ada twisted sharply.

It wasn’t her fault. Because of _Molly_ , Lenny and Hosea had died and John had been captured... She wanted to yell at her, to kick and scratch and scream, but... she just couldn’t bring herself to hate her. She pitied her too much.

Dutch, though...

“You did _what?!_ ” He drew his gun with an anger she had never seen before, and aimed it at Molly.

“I _loved you_ , _you God damn bastard!_ ” she shouted, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Go on, _shoot me!_ ”

Ada heard Arthur murmuring to Dutch, a hand on his shoulder, but she couldn’t look, couldn’t look away from Molly.

“She’s crazy,” Arthur was saying quietly, trying to push Dutch’s gun down, “She ain’t worth it.”

“ _You told on me?! You betrayed me?!_ ” Dutch was shouting but Molly was barely listening, staring at him and talking over him, elated, “Oh, you’re not so big now, _are ye_?”

“Quiet!” Arthur commanded her before murmuring to Dutch, “Just _calm down_.”

Dutch’s gaze darted to him.

“She’s a fool,” Arthur continued, nodding slightly, “Get her outta here.”

Dutch stared at him, then thundered, to him or Molly she didn’t know, “ _You know the rules_.”

“Oh, not so big now!” Molly was still going on, nearly screaming, “ _Are we, your majesty?!_ ”

“You—”

A gunshot rang out, a bullet tearing through Molly’s stomach.

" _Damn!_ ” Bill cried as people gasped and Ada’s hands flew up to cover her mouth, holding in her cry as they all watched a dark redness blossom across Molly’s white blouse.

Susan stepped forward, gripping a shotgun, as Molly collapsed, dead, and Ada could hear Mary-Beth sobbing.

_Oh my God._

“She knew the rules, Arthur,” Susan hissed, “What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” She turned sharply. “Mr Pearson, Mr Williamson, get this body outta here and get it burnt! Now get back to work, all of ya!”

As they all moved instantly, startled into it, in her peripheral vision she saw Dutch turn to her, so slowly it was almost like a dream. Lowering her hands, knowing they were shaking, she met his gaze.

He looked at her.

_Oh, God, Molly, I’m so sorry._

"She never liked me,” she heard herself saying. She had no idea how she kept her composure, how her voice didn’t shake, how she sounded so sad and calm and casual at the same time.

Maybe because her life was on the fucking line.

She stared at him as he looked at her.

A lifetime seemed to pass, then he nodded and turned away, moving towards his tent. Arthur was looking at her, but he didn’t say anything, just turned sharply on his heel and strode after Dutch, spitting out curses.

She felt sick. She felt cold and hot and angry and sad and helpless and useless.

Folding her arms, her hands gripping her biceps to hide her shaking hands, Ada watched as Bill and Pearson carried Molly’s body away. They were going to burn her. She felt tears stinging at her eyes. Because of her they’d died. And she’d called her an _O’Driscoll?_ Where the _fuck_ had that come from? Her mind should have been racing, she should have been relieved Molly hadn’t been made to elaborate, but...

Despite what she’d done, she couldn’t hate her, she couldn’t...

_Molly, I’m so sorry._

“Hey, honey.”

She stiffened. Micah, who had been so quiet these past couple of months, who had barely said a word to her, who had seemed so disinterested, smiled as he approached her.

“What do you want.”

He laughed, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. “So abrupt. I can’t just say hello?”

“What do you _want_ , Micah.”

“Nothin’.” His smile lingered. “Just wanted to ask how your day was goin’, that’s all.”

“It was fine.” She didn’t like that he continued to smile, even as he followed the direction of her gaze, watching Bill and Pearson.

“Yeah, big mess, ain’t it.”

She didn’t say a word.

“Well.” His hands clapping together made her jump, her nails digging into her biceps. “I expect things will sort themselves out soon.” He grinned. “Hope your day gets better, darlin’.”

He wandered away, humming to himself as he headed for the main fire, Charles and Uncle sat before it, silent, staring into the flames. Her gaze lifted from them and... she saw Karen, looking at her, her brow furrowed slightly. She quickly looked away as Ada met her gaze. Starting to tremble, Ada turned and saw Tilly... sat against a tree, crying, looking at her. She, too, looked away.

_Oh, my God... It’s in their minds... Whether they believe it or not, it’s in their minds..._

She felt like she was going to faint. Lifting her gaze again, she found Arthur striding towards her, his features tight. Lowering her arms as he approached, she didn’t have a chance to speak as his hand settled on her back and pushed her into a walk with him.

“C’mon, we’re goin’ out.”

“Where?” she asked, so relieved, moving towards Mags.

“I don’t know, huntin’ or somethin’,” he muttered, mounting Ophelia. “Need some God damn space from here.”

She pulled herself up into Mags’s saddle, and met Javier’s gaze. He just looked at her. He didn’t look away. Turning Mags around, she pressed her lips together as she and Arthur rode out of camp, clicking her tongue to urge Mags into a trot so she could take the lead.

“I know a place.”

Arthur just grunted in response, and she let silence fall, letting him work through what he needed to, and, God, she just couldn’t talk anymore. They pressed on into a canter, both eager to get away from what had once been home.

* * *

The crumbling sign on the wooden archway had faintly read ‘ _Willard’s Rest_ ’.

Arthur could see no Willard, though.

And he was damn fucking happy for it.

The cabin was empty, though furniture still remained in the three rooms that made it up; a bed in two of the rooms, one large, one small, a table and chairs in the main room along with empty cabinets. It was fairly clean, a slight layer of dust, but otherwise fine. It was probably too far out for most travellers, and maybe too hidden, too, the trees giving good coverage at the front, the cliff at the back.

“How’d you find this place?” he asked, removing his gloves and dropping them on to the table as he returned from his perusing of the rooms to see if they were clear.

“Sadie and I came here once when we went out hunting, when we were hiding at Lakay.” Ada hissed softly as she rose, her leg stiff, having just about managed to light a fire in the hearth opposite the table. A light rain had started as they’d arrived and she was absolutely _not_ going to spend the night in a freezing cabin.

“Mmh. This is quite a way from there.” Arthur took a seat as she stood by the fire, warming her hands.

“We just started riding and didn’t stop.” She smiled slightly. “Think we just wanted space, too.”

He nodded, stretching his legs out as his gaze roamed the room again. “This is nice. Seems like someone just moved out.”

“That’s what Sadie and I thought.”

He looked to her as she rubbed her arms and leaned against the wall. “You okay, sweetheart?” he murmured.

He could see she was shaking, and he didn’t think it was from the rain. 

Inhaling a breath, Ada shrugged. “I don’t... I don’t know. I haven’t been... able to feel anything for the last few weeks and I’m afraid if I do, I... And what just happened, it...” She exhaled a faint, shaking laugh.

“I get it,” he murmured, guilt twisting at his heart again.

Silence lingered as she took another trembling breath, exhaled it, then paused again. Finally, she smiled slightly, her gaze holding his. “I’m so glad you came back. I’m so happy, very happy.”

He couldn’t help but match her smile even as the knife of guilt continued to twist. “Me, too.”

She licked her lips. “It... It was very hard without you, for me.”

She could feel the tears forming again, clouding her vision slightly, but she tried so hard to suppress them. If she started, she didn’t know if she would ever be able to stop.

Arthur saw it, though, and he couldn’t bear it. Rising, he moved towards her. “Hey, c’mere.”

She released another quiet, useless laugh as she straightened. “Oh no, please don’t, I don’t think I can...”

His hands went to her waist, pulling her into his embrace, and his arms wrapped around her. He felt her stiffen slightly, her arms at her sides.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair, his cheek resting atop her head.

After a few, silent moments, her hands lifted, gripping his jacket at his back. He felt it, then, her silent sobs as she held on to him, her tears wetting his shirt.

“It’s okay...” he murmured again, just holding her as she cried.

He didn’t care to recognise how long he held her for, how long she cried. He’d have done it forever, if that’s what she needed. It tore at his heart, her sobs, the burdens and fears and anxieties she was releasing with every jagged breath. He knew it would have done no good to tell her that he should have been there, he shouldn’t have left, that _they_ should have left, run away, gone west, gone north, gone _anywhere_ away from all of this, this crumbling society. He knew no apologies would atone for any of it. So, finally, after a lifetime, as her cries softened, he whispered one of the two things he had faith in.

“I ain’t goin’ away again, darlin’, not without you.”

“You can’t promise me that, Arthur,” she murmured, the words muffled against his chest.

“I know.” His hands caressed her back gently. “But I’m gonna do my damn best.”

Her shoulders shuddered and he thought she might dissolve into sobs again, but she inhaled a quiet breath and lifted her head. She looked at him then, holding his gaze, as if she could find the real answer, the truth, within his eyes. He didn’t know what she found but she raised her hands and wiped at her face, her palms resting over her eyes as she released a long breath. Then, her features seemed to crumble again.

“Oh, God, Molly...”

The tears came again as he held her, his heart breaking again.

“I just can’t believe she just... And how did she _know_...”

“She could have been lyin’,” he murmured, “Seemed to me she was just sayin’ shit about people, wanted to hurt ‘em.”

He felt her shaking her head, managing to speak through her tears as she raised her head to look at him. “I don’t think so, Arthur... Hosea knew.”

“ _What?_ ”

She sniffed, taking a breath. “When Sadie and I went back to Shady Belle, a week or two after it all happened, she let me check all the rooms just in case any of you had come by and left something. I checked Hosea’s room and by his bed in a drawer was a newspaper.” She swallowed hard. “The newspaper that had me in it, the description of me and the article about my uncle looking for me.” Fresh tears began to fall. “He was an intelligent man. There’s no way he wouldn’t have figured it all out and...” Her voice broke as she continued, “and he didn’t _say anything_. He gave no... no indication, no _hint_ that he knew, he just... carried on treating me the same. God’s sake...” She closed her eyes, weeping. “I wish I’d told everyone now. Not at the beginning but at some point.” She looked up at him. “Whatever had to happen would have happened. I’d like to think I would have been able to argue my case and I’d have been left alone, accepted.”

Arthur exhaled a breath as he wiped her tears away. Truthfully, he had no idea what would have happened... but...

"I’d have had your back,” he murmured, “and Sadie, Sean, Lenny, John, Abigail, and Hosea, and the girls... we know what kind of person you are.”

Her chin was trembling. “But Dutch—”

“I can’t speak for Dutch, but...” He cupped her cheek. “... we’d have been there for you.”

“I don’t know, Arthur...” She shook her head. “... I saw some of them looking at me as we left, I... I don’t know.”

“Whether they believe it or not, they _know_ what kind of a person you are,” he repeated gently. “You did so much for ‘em while we were away. They know that. They’ll just be upset and their minds scrambled ‘cause of Molly.”

“And what a fucking mess,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes. “I just feel so sorry for her.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know...” And he couldn’t think what else to say. He was just as sad, just as _enraged_. No matter the rules that wasn’t how it should have gone down. She had been drunk, out of her mind, and while he couldn’t think why she would lie about being the one to betray them, she’d seemed to have revelled in revealing it, actually, she still should have been allowed to sober up, say her piece, say _why_ , and then they could have decided what to do... and he hoped it wouldn’t have been to fucking kill her. Molly was Molly, lazy, entitled, sour, but... she hadn’t deserved an end like that, despite what she’d done.

Then again, a small, angry, exhausted, desperately sad part of him whispered that she had. Hosea, one of the greatest men he’d ever known, the man who had practically raised him, had died in a street, bleeding out in the gutter. Lenny, the future of the gang, a kind, funny, lively boy, had died running from a situation he shouldn’t have even been in.

He just held her tighter in his embrace, knowing they both needed it. She held on to him, taking in quiet, ragged breaths as the last of her sobs faded away.

Gentle rain pattered against the roof, and he faintly hoped there wouldn’t be any leaks.

“I’ll cook us somethin’, all righ’?” he murmured, against her hair a few minutes later, his thumbs gently stroking her back. “There’s some tins of somethin’ in my saddlebag, that should do.”

She nodded, and drew her head back as she exhaled a breath, the faintest ghost of a smile on her lips. “That sounds good.”

“Good.” 

His heart ached and he couldn’t release her just yet so he bowed his head and kissed her. It was soft, gentle, meant to comfort her and silently reinforce his vow of staying with her. Her hands slid up his back, though, gripping at him again but in a decidedly more urgent manner, and he relinquished to her as she deepened the kiss.

_I’ll go in a minute_ , he thought as an arm tightened around her waist and his other hand settled on the back of her neck. _In a minute_.

Then she moaned quietly against his lips, her tongue brushing against them.

He knew, he knew if it didn’t stop now then it wouldn’t later.

Her hands were at his jacket, pushing it off of his shoulders and he helped her, throwing it to the side and immediately returning his hands to her, holding her by the waist and pulling her closer.

They needed each other.

Her fingers undid the bandanna she’d returned to him from around his neck, moving to unbutton his shirt before it had even touched the ground. Knowing they both needed a breath, he pulled his lips from hers and brought them to her neck, kissing a trail down the soft column of her throat and back up, teasing along her jawline. She exhaled a moan, her fingers splaying across his bare chest as his shirt fell open, her head tipping back, her eyes closed.

One hand pulled her blouse free from where it was tucked into her trousers, his fingers tracing along her stomach and she gasped softly, probably would have jerked away involuntarily if his arm around her lower back hadn’t kept her tight against him.

Ada could feel his cock hardening against her thigh and she pushed against him, drawing a groan from him that had her shoving his shirt off of his shoulders and down his arms. He helped her again, his hands off of her for the briefest of moments before they were returning, gripping at her back and ass, pulling her as tight against him as possible. She was kissing along his shoulder, kissing at where his scar was, her teeth grazing over his skin with every one, and it drove him insane.

God, he wanted to feel her everywhere.

“Bedroom...” she breathed against his neck, as if hearing his thoughts, “... One with the bigger bed.”

“Obviously...” he groaned into her jaw, biting at it gently as she nipped at his skin in return with a moaned, “Shut up...”

Grunting with impatience, he turned them, pushing her backwards towards the bedroom with his arms remaining tight around her. If either of them stumbled a little they barely registered it, and his arm only moved from her to dart out and grip at the doorjamb so she wouldn’t knock into it. He was surprised he’d reacted in time, her fingers dancing along the waistband of his trousers and unbuttoning them thoroughly distracting.

Stumbling into the room, her back did knock against a chest of drawers, making her hiss in surprise, but it was swiftly replaced by a gasp as he turned her and her back now collided with a wall. Leaning her head back against it so she could see what she was doing, she went to push her hand into his open trousers when his knee pushed between her legs, his thigh pressing against her covered cunt. Inhaling a sharp breath, her hands gripped at his biceps as he braced a hand against the wall.

“Fuck...” he groaned as she rocked against his thigh, her eyes closed and her lips parted. “... I bet you’re wet already, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes...” she breathed, her hand moving to the back of his neck. Opening her eyes, her tongue darted out over her lips. “Touch me, Arthur, please...”

His hand instantly dropped from her hip and tugged the buttons of her trousers undone. Then his hand was inside, his fingers sliding over her cunt and spreading her wet lips. She couldn’t and didn’t care to stop herself from crying out, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Oh, Christ, Arthur...” She had to trail off with a breathy moan as his middle finger glided up her slit and circled her sensitive bud, making her hips buck.

She _was_ wet already for him, enough so that he could press two fingers into her easily. His lips went to her neck as he instantly began to pump them, his other hand pulling her shirt open a little wider, hearing a button or two collide with the wooden floor but neither of them cared. His half-biting, open-mouthed kisses moved down to her throat and chest, and he growled against her skin as her slick walls fluttered around his fingers and her beautiful moans sounded against his ear.

“Fuck, Arthur...” she breathed out, and he could feel her nearing her release already, so wound up and ready for him, ready for the bliss he could give her.

“Come for me,” he commanded, kissing under her jaw so he could gravel into her ear, “Get my hand wet, sweetheart, let me feel you...”

Just his words alone had her clenching around his fingers, and his thumb pressed against her aching clit, rubbing in a firm circle. He wanted to see her face but he couldn’t tear his mouth from her skin, so the only warning he had was her sharp inhale, a very short silence, and then she was crying out through gritted teeth as her nails sank into his skin. He could feel her wetness around his fingers, beads of it sliding down his palm and his cock was so, so painfully hard.

As she rode the last waves of her pleasure, barely coming down, he pulled his hand away and slid his arm around her back, pulling her away from the wall. Her eyes snapping open, the next thing she knew, he’d turned them and was pushing her backwards once more. Her calves met the iron frame of the bed and she fell back, him following, her back colliding now with the soft mattress. Neither cared about the state of the bedsheets, a little musty but better than the blankets they’d had at Lakay, and their lips met instantly. It was a fierce kiss, all teeth and tongue and harsh breaths. His body covered hers and she couldn’t stop herself from focusing on his cock pressing down against her.

“I want you inside me...” she breathed against his lips before she could stop herself, rocking her hips up against him. “... I want to feel you inside me...”

And he paused. Lifting his head, he met her gaze, both their lips parted, chests rising and falling swiftly.

She thought he was going to say no or pull away, thought she’d pushed her luck... when he nodded, his thumb on her waist where her blouse had ridden up caressing gently.

“Yes,” he gravelled, then his lips were back on her but at her neck this time, biting and sucking a path down and her cry of relief was lost in her moan of delight as he licked at her nipple through her blouse and thin, cotton corset.

“Off, get it off...” she heard herself demanding breathlessly, and then his hands were pulling her blouse off, pulling it _apart_ , actually, buttons dropping onto the mattress but she didn’t care.

Arching her back and moving her arms to help him remove it, she then kept it arched as his hands went underneath her, trying to unlace the corset.

It was nowhere near as complicated as the corset she had worn for the Mayor’s party but he still hissed out curses in frustration. Her lips twitching, she was about to tease him when he rose up on his knees, gripped her waist, and turned her over swiftly.

Exhaling a sharp breath as she suddenly found herself on her front, her hands gripping the sheets, she barely had time to react as his hand aggressively tugged at the fastenings and his other pushed her hair aside so he could mouth at her neck and shoulder. Her eyes fell shut as she hummed at the delicious sensation, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, and, with his straining cock digging into her ass, she couldn’t stop herself from rocking back against him.

He growled and swatted at her ass lightly, drawing a gasp from her.

“Can’t concentrate if you do that, woman...” he muttered into her neck and she gave a wide, breathless smirk.

“Can’t do two things at once? Poor baby...”

“You know I can, sweetheart.” 

The fastenings finally undone, he tugged the corset apart and pushed her over onto her back again. Arching an eyebrow at him, even as a flush spread across her cheeks and neck, she huffed out, “Are you going to keep throwing me around?”

A corner of his mouth rose higher than the other. “Only if you keep likin’ it. Arms above your head.”

She obeyed immediately, her teeth biting at her lower lip again to try and hide a smile, unsuccessfully, though, if his own smirk was anything to go by. He pushed the corset up and over her head, letting it drop to the floor, and then he was on her again, kissing at her jaw, throat, going down, down, down, until he was at her nipples, bare for him now and hard. He sucked and licked at one, and as she moaned, the sound low in her throat, she was about to sink her fingers into his hair when his were suddenly lacing with hers, keeping them above her head. All she could do was arch her back and roll her hips, mewls and soft curses falling from her lips as he did as he pleased, moving from one breast to the other.

She was about to curse _at_ him, her already very intense need growing, when he released her hands and moved down her body, trailing kisses down her stomach like a starving man until he was shifting off of the bed, lowering to his knees on the floor. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her curls sliding over her shoulders, not wanting to take her eyes off of him, and watched him pull her boots off before his hands were at the waistband of her trousers, tugging them down. Ada raised her hips to help him, and even as he was still pulling them down her calves his lips were on her thighs, placing gentle, hungry kisses along them, pausing only to press a gentle, lingering one to the new, pink scar. Tossing the trousers aside once they were off, his hands curved around her knees, pulling them wider apart as his mouth moved up to her wet cunt.

She barely had time to take in a breath before he was licking and sucking at her soaking folds. Her mouth dropping open, her head tipped back and a low moan escaped her.

“Holy God...” she breathed, one of her hands moving to his hair, finally able to tangle her fingers in.

It was a little longer now, so she could easily sink them in and pull and tug, her nails gliding against his scalp. He groaned against her pussy with every tug she gave, his hands sliding over her hips, settling on her stomach. Dragging her teeth over her lower lip as hummed moans left her, she opened her eyes looked down at him, instantly meeting his gaze. He released a sound akin to a _growl_ as their eyes locked and the flat of his tongue slid up her slit, watching her brow dip as she moaned loudly.

“Taste so fuckin’ good...” he groaned against her, and the vibration of his voice had her hips bucking, his hands on her stomach instantly pressing down.

One of them then slid up to pull and roll her nipple, and her elbow supporting her gave out as her other hand flew to his hair at his tongue circling her clit.

Her breaths were becoming shorter and sharper and she wanted to roll her hips but he wasn’t having it, his arm lying across her stomach now. He was driving her _insane_ , his tongue dipping into her before coming back to lap at her clit and it was both perfect and not enough.

The sound she released, close to a _whine_ , had him arching an eyebrow, and she could _feel_ his smirk.

“Somethin’ you want, Ada?”

Her breathing hitched at both feeling his voice again, and his tone. “Come on, Arthur...”

“Oh, I don’t know what to do, sweetheart...” he rumbled as he drew his head back, his hand moving down from her nipple. “... wanna keep tastin’ you, been dreamin’ about this, but also wanna feel you come again...”

Her response, whatever it would be, even she didn’t know, died on her tongue as he slid two fingers inside her and stroked them. Crying out, her head tipped back and she pulled at his hair, pushing her hips against him.

“Oh, fuck, God, Arthur, oh, fuck...” She was almost babbling, so close, so fucking close to the edge again and and his words and fingers had only driven her there further.

He could feel her slick walls starting to flutter around him, and he groaned, kissing and sucking at her clit. “... Think I’ll be nice and make you come again...”

She breathed out a sound of relief, her gaze darting down to him as her moans became louder and higher. She tried to keep her eyes on his, but as his fingers and tongue stroked at her, only a few moments later she threw her head back and cried out, her hips rising off the bed.

“That’s it, that’s it, let me taste you...” he mumbled, scissoring his fingers slightly against her tightening walls.

She was almost pushing against his head, pushing him further against her, and he wasn’t about to complain. Lapping her up, he slid his fingers out so he could collect all of her wetness on his tongue, gliding it up her slit. When he reached her clit, her hips jerked, sensitive, and she then started to push his head away.

Chuckling lowly, he obeyed and softly kissed along her thigh as her hands fell to her sides, her eyes closed. Breathing hard, small, hummed moans left her every few moments, and when he reached her knee, he then gently lowered her legs and pushed himself up.

The sound of his boots coming off made her eyelids flutter open, and she gazed up at him, meeting his gaze. Then, a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth and he was about to return it when she pushed herself up and settled her hands on his hips. Her legs widened so he was essentially standing between them, and she gazed up at him as she pressed a soft kiss above the trail of hair on his lower stomach.

A slightly hissed breath escaped him, and one of her hands slid to the open front of his trousers.

“Can I touch you?” she murmured against his skin, pressing another kiss, and he realised she was giving him the option to stop this.

And then he realised he could let her touch him now.

Because he’d said yes.

And he wanted this, wanted _her_.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice almost hoarse with need.

The slow smile that spread across her lips had him wanting to taste her yet again, but he restrained himself as her hand slid into his trousers and her fingers wrapped around his hard, straining cock. His eyes fell shut with a groan as she pulled him out, and she’d remembered what he’d said because her hand left him briefly and when it returned it was wet and, _God_ , it was heaven...

His hand found the side of her neck, cupping it, and his thumb brushed against her jaw gently as she moved her hand up and down his length.

Then her tongue was on the weeping head of his cock.

Clenching his jaw tightly as she gave small, light licks, he knew he couldn’t open his eyes because he’d just come right there.

Ada gazed up at him, watching the muscles in his jaw move, feeling his fingers flex and tighten against her neck, though she didn’t mind at all. Her other hand pulled his trousers down a little further, and the feel of her nails against his thigh seemed to bring him back into the room as his eyes snapped open.

She was about to murmur something coy when he gently pushed her hands away and shoved his trousers down to the floor, kicking the garment aside.

“Lie back,” he murmured, and she did so instantly, shifting backwards and lying on the bed.

He placed a knee on the bed and leaned over her, supporting himself with a hand by her head. He was about to speak, to tell her how beautiful she looked, when her hands cupped his face and drew him down, claiming his lips in a firm kiss. His whole body lowered against her, an arm sliding under her as the other settled above her head. He could feel all of her, all of her soft skin against him, feel how wet she was against his thigh.

“Ada...” he mumbled against her lips, and she hummed in reply, hooking a leg over his hip, opening up to him.

_Christ..._

Breaking the kiss gently, he drew his head back and gazed down at her. Her eyes opened a moment later, and she smiled softly, slightly breathlessly.

“What is it?” she murmured as her fingers caressed his hair.

Licking his lips, his thumb above her head stroked at one of her curls. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked quietly, now giving _her_ the opportunity to stop.

The backs of her fingers brushed against his cheek as she nodded without hesitation, her teeth grazing over her plump lower lip. “I am.”

He nodded, and lust surged within him once more because she _wanted_ him and there was his fire in her eyes and so he kissed her fiercely.

She reacted instantly, her arms wrapping around his neck as she released a soft sound against his lips. Shifting between her legs slightly, his arm moved out from under her and he gripped his cock, guiding the tip to her entrance.

Fuck, feeling how wet she was...

“I ain’t gonna last long,” he mumbled, breaking the kiss and meeting her gaze. “Been some time.”

She nodded and swallowed lightly. “That’s okay.”

“It might... It’s gonna hurt a little, so I’ll go slow.”

Ada nodded again, her fingertips pressing into his shoulders. “Okay.”

He nodded, licked his dry lips, then pushed the head of his cock into her.

_Oh, fuck..._

Oh, Christ, he wasn’t going to last long at all.

Even with just the tip he could feel how warm and tight she was.

He had to force himself to keep his eyes open because he wanted to watch her reactions, wanted to see if he might be causing any really bad pain.

And, oh, fuck, looking at her...

She was holding his gaze, her lips parted, her skin flushed, a gentle sound coming from the back of her throat. He pushed in a little further and she winced just slightly but it was accompanied by a small moan. So he kept pushing, gently, slowly, watching her and trying not to think about how fucking good she felt.

After what felt like a thousand lifetimes, he finally sheathed himself inside her.

He couldn’t stop his eyes from closing.

Lowering his face, it pressed into the crook of her neck as he hissed out breaths through his teeth. He could feel her nails digging into his skin and he focused on that because, fuck, he wasn’t going to come yet.

Ada, in turn, was staring at the ceiling, her lips still parted, every breath leaving her almost a moan... and she was trying so hard to not move because she knew, from how damn tense he was, he was trying to do the same.

It _had_ hurt a little, but after a few moments, after she’d adjusted, it felt... incredible. The long, hard length of him fit her perfectly, and being filled by him, being stretched... A new wave of warmth settled in her lower stomach and he must have felt it in some way because he hissed out a short breath, his hands gripping at the sheets.

_How long had it been for him?_ she thought, her fingertips brushing against his skin in the lightest of touches.

Licking her lips as he stiffened, she then tilted her head down a fraction and brushed her lips against his skin as her hips gave the smallest of rolls.

His hand darted down and gripped her hip, but not firm enough to stop her, so she did it again, then again, then again until she was rocking up against him. She could feel each of his breaths on her skin, laboured and short.

He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to. He wanted to be buried inside her forever, and he didn’t want to come because then it would be over and—

She moaned against his ear.

It was the softest of sounds, and it broke something inside of him.

Gritting his teeth, his hand slid from her hip to her thigh, and he held her leg in position around him. Then, he started to move his hips, drawing them back and thrusting inside her in a slow, drawn out movement.

He could feel all of her, every inch of her warm wetness, and she could feel every inch of him, her head tipping back as she cried out softly.

Each sound she made only spurred him on, making his movements quicken until he was thrusting hard and fast and she was moaning and gripping at him and he wasn’t going to last, he wasn’t going to last...

She heard him grunt something out, and it took her a moment to respond herself, one hand gripping at his hair.

“Hm?”

“... Gonna come...” came the tight reply, and it sent the most delicious of thrills through her.

He was going to withdraw, was going to spill his seed on her stomach, when her legs tightened around him, holding him against her, and he let her, all thought of consequences leaving his mind. Breathing hard into her neck, one hand gripped her thigh tightly as his other tangled in the sheets above her head, and he thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt each time, and she was so warm and wet and tight and she was moaning his name and—

Gritting his teeth, his hips drew back, then he thrust into her once more, burying himself deep within her, and his body went taut as he froze and his release finally came. 

Low, breathless groans fell from his lips as his hips jerked, and her mouth dropped open as a rush of breath escaped her, her arms tight around him, feeling him release inside her. Her slick walls fluttered around him in response and it just prolonged his heaven-sent pleasure, and he couldn’t think, all he could do was feel, his mind blank.

He didn’t know how long he lay there on top of her, still, his face pressed against her neck, softening cock buried inside her, exhaling harsh, short breaths. It took him a little while to realise her finger tips were gently stroking against his back, and it wasn’t until she shifted just slightly that he realised he must be crushing her, and so he lifted his head and pushed himself up with a mumbled, “Shit, sorry...”

She was smiling, though, as he met her gaze, the most tender of smiles he’d ever seen. Exhaling another breath, a smile pulled at his own lips and he cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin.

He bowed his head and claimed that smile, kissing her softly. Her hand settled on the back of his head as she returned the kiss with a quiet hum.

“Sorry, it’ll be better next time...” he murmured when the kiss broke, still a little breathless.

“ _That_ wasn’t good?” she answered, arching an eyebrow as her smile returned.

“No, no, I mean for you, it’ll be better—”

Her kiss silenced him, her arms wrapping around his neck and drawing him back down against her. He gave in, an arm sliding underneath her and holding her tight against him.

“Shut up, Arthur Morgan,” she murmured against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied just as quietly, his lips brushing over hers.

Her smile was there again when he drew his head back. “... _Next_ time, did you say?”

“ _In_ -satiable...”

She laughed as he pushed himself up with a shake of his head, the sound drawing off with a slight hiss and a wince as he slowly pulled out of her. Licking her lips, her hands went to her stomach as he moved off of her and settled on his back with a contented sigh. Then, before she knew it, his arm was going around her and pulling her against him. Turning on her side, one of her legs draped over his as she curled up against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

Gazing up at him, she found his eyes had closed, but his fingers traced light and lazy patterns on her arm. A soft smile danced across her lips... but something had resurfaced in her mind; a question that had been playing on her mind since he’d left.

“Arthur...?”

“Mmh...” His eyes remained closed for a moment longer before he looked down at her, arching an eyebrow.

Licking her lips again, she took a slight breath. “... Why were you so reluctant to do this with me?”

His gaze held hers, his jaw moving just slightly. “I ain’t... I ain’t been with someone in some time.”

“So... you were nervous?” she asked gently, her hand resting on his chest.

“No, I, well, a little, but it weren’t about that, I...” He cleared his throat after a moment as he sat up carefully, giving her room to shift from under his arm, and he leaned back against the headboard.

She stayed silent, watching him as she leaned up onto her elbow.

He looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb across one and cleared his throat again before looking up at her. “Ada, I... There’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to tell you for a while. I’m sorry I ain’t said it sooner, but... I had a kid.”

Her lips parted as her eyebrows rose. “What?”

He took a breath, his mouth moving slightly. “... Years ago, when I was younger, there was a woman called Eliza, and we... we liked each other a lot and slept together and... And Isaac came along. I couldn’t stay with ‘em, not with this life, but I sent money and would visit whenever I could.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “He was a good kid. And, then, ah...” The smile vanished as soon as it had come. “... Then I went to visit one time and when I got there... house was empty, two graves outside. They’d been robbed and shot. It was the worst thing I’ve ever gone through in my life and I just stopped... feelin’. Hardened me.” He glanced up at her. “I think you can understand that.”

A corner of her mouth lifted, her eyes shining.

He swallowed, exhaled a breath. “Then I met Mary and I started to feel again, but, it weren’t righ’. That’s why it was so hard for me to really let her go. I thought she was my only chance at somethin’ really good.” He looked at her again. “I ended it with her, you know. Called it all to an end when I went and saw her that day.”

“You did?” she said quietly, her chest tightening slightly.

“Yeah. Was time for one of us to do it. I didn’t love her that way anymore, either, I need you to know that.”

She opened her mouth to tell him he didn’t need to tell her, but he preempted it and raised his hand slightly, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Wait a second, let me finish... I hadn’t really loved her for some time, not properly. I’ll always be fond of her, she was an important part of my life but, I didn’t, I don’t think I ever did, actually, love her.” He paused, then murmured the second thing he had absolute faith in. “... I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone like I love you.”

Her heart stopped. 

Gazing at him, her lips parted, she could feel tears starting to prick at her eyes again. “... You love me?”

“Yeah.” A corner of his mouth twisted up. “Done what I can to stop it, but... it’s just as stubborn as you are.”

Her eyes shining again, she pressed her lips together to stop her lower one from trembling. Swallowing hard, after a few moments, moments that seemed like an eternity to him, she nodded and smiled softly.

“Well... I love you, too, Arthur Morgan.”

His eyebrows lifted, his chest tightening slightly. “You do?”

She nodded, a tear dripping down her cheek as she blinked, her smile lingering. “Yeah. Tried to stop it, too, but... just keeps following me around, wherever I go, like you.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound of it slightly thick from the emotion settling in his throat. “Well... that’s good, then.”

“Yeah.”

After a moment, she sniffed then pushed herself up and moved towards him, and he leaned towards her and his hands cupped her face as hers settled on his chest and they kissed, lingering and tender.

_I love you._

When he finally released her, her head settled on his shoulder and his arms went around her, fingers lightly stroking her skin.

They lay in silence, allowing their words to linger in the air.

Her eyes were closed, a smile on her lips, her heart beating a little faster.

_I love you._

It had felt like the most natural thing in the world to say. No ceremony, no floods of tears, no hesitation, just saying it and meaning it.

_I love you._

She felt him shift slightly, adjusting his shoulders against the headboard. Whatever was going to happen tomorrow, the day after, the rest of her life, she was going to be with him, loved and safe, and she was going to do anything to keep it that way.

She had a hundred questions to ask, about Isaac, about Eliza, about his life back then but... They could wait. Despite the years that stretched between now and those events, she could sense there was a rawness still there, a grief that hadn’t ended, and she could understand it all too well.

“Mmh, anythin’ happen with the O’Driscoll camp, by the way?” he murmured after a few more quiet minutes.

“Oh, yeah...” She shifted a little, her eyes remaining closed. “Rounded a few up, asked them about Thomas and they all went quiet, so I think they knew something.”

“Righ’.”

She inhaled a breath, her eyebrows rising a little. “But maybe not, they didn’t seem particularly bright. One lit a stick of dynamite and threw it without even looking, it exploded near me and his friends.”

“There was an explosion?!” He looked down at her as his hands stilled, staring. “Jesus, woman, can you prioritise the things you tell me and when?”

Her lips twitched as her gaze slid up to him. “Well, there was an ambush t—”

“Ambush?!”

“Well, the explosion came from the ambush—”

“God damn it, woman, you are just...” He exhaled a heavy breath as he shook his head. “... Are you okay?”

She smiled, almost in amusement. “I’m fine, Arthur.” The smile faded after a few moments, though, and he knew something else was on her mind.

Licking her lips, she curled up against him. “I heard one of the men say that Colm’s been looking for me. I just don’t know why. I can’t work out if it’s just a game for him or whether there’s an actual reason.”

Arthur had resumed stroking her skin gently, soothingly, and he released a low hum. “Well, he ain’t got you yet, though, and I won’t let him.”

Her lips twitched faintly as she arched an eyebrow. “You’ll have to get in line because I won’t let him either.”

“I would gladly get behind you...”

She laughed softly as his lips went to her forehead and cheeks, kissing sloppily.

“Stop it, my heart’s only just calmed down.”

"You sure? Lemme just check that you’re really okay...”

She laughed louder as her arms went around him as he shifted them so she lay underneath him, and he kissed and caressed every inch of her body, except where she wanted him the most.

“ _Insatiable_ , Mr Morgan...” she murmured with a breathless smile as his nose brushed against her stomach, and he pressed a kiss there, his lips trailing down.

* * *

He dozed off afterwards and she let him, knowing she should probably get some sleep, too, but it hadn’t come. She could barely close her eyes without wanting to scream with joy.

He loved her. She was loved, for all that she was, good and bad.

She would never be able to convey how happy she was.

Tonight had been the last barrier. The act and their words had told her he was hers and she was his, for all that they were, mind, body and soul. 

On her side, her hand tucked under her chin, she gazed at him, her eyes tracing the lines of his nose, his mouth, his eyelashes, the hair that curled slightly at the nape of his neck, the sparse, light freckles on his skin, the—

He shifted as he inhaled a slow breath. Her eyes moving back up, they met his.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice a little hoarse.

“Hey,” she whispered, a soft smile lifting her lips as she pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

Rubbing at his face with a hand, he then arched an eyebrow as it dropped to his chest. “How long you been starin’ at me?”

Her smile widened. “Hours.”

He snorted. “I don’t sleep hours. You should sleep, though.”

“I will.”

He gazed at her as she didn’t move, just looking at him, her smile lingering.

She had to say it. Had to make sure it was still real.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan,” she murmured softly.

His features softened instantly, his arm sliding around her. “I love you, too, Ada.”

Lifting her chin, her lips met his in a tender kiss.

It was still real.

* * *

He awoke in the morning, after a peaceful, unbroken sleep, to find her head on his chest, her fingers tracing light patterns, her stomach rumbling, and aching and sore in the best way.

“I’ll cook us that meal,” he mumbled against her lips once he’d finally found the strength to stop kissing her.

She hummed and rolled onto her back as he pushed himself up and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Watching him run a hand through his hair, she played with her ring, twisting it around and around, because as blissful as last night was, every second of it... the light of the morning sun brought with it an unspoken question that hung in the air.

He cleared his throat, his elbows on his knees. After a few moments, he then looked to her.

“We have to go back.” The words were quiet, expected, and she nodded.

“I know.”

Watching him dress, she didn’t allow herself to feel resigned, hopeless or afraid.

They would go back, and she would plan a way for them to leave this life behind.


	17. When Trouble Comes To Town, Men Like Me Come Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

“Hey, where the _hell_ were you two?”

“Huntin’.” Arthur dropped the three turkeys they’d shot on the way back onto Pearson’s table.

Pearson grumbled something under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“I thought you’d _gone_.”

Arthur frowned as his hands went to his belt. “What?”

“After... what happened, I thought you’d both gone.”

His jaw moved slightly as he looked at him. “Well, we ain’t. We ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Pearson nodded, and Ada thought he was going to say something else when his head bowed and he studied the state the turkeys were in. “So, uh, where did you get—”

“Oh, you’re a _fuckin’ peach_ , ain’t you?”

“And you’re better than all of us, are you?!”

She turned with Arthur to watch Karen storming after Miss Grimshaw, coming up the path from the river. Both women looked thunderous.

“At least I didn’t fuckin’ _shoot_ someone who didn’t even know what was goin’ on, you miserable _bitch!_ ” Karen yelled and Grimshaw turned sharply, halting and thrusting a finger at her.

“ _Listen here, you little ungrateful cunt, I did us all a favour!_ ”

“You did _yourself_ a favour, you’ve been _wantin’_ her gone since Dutch cast you aside and took her in!”

“They ain’t stopped since,” Pearson muttered behind them, and Arthur released a long breath.

Starting to move forward, he murmured, “I better—”

“No, Arthur,” Ada murmured, her hand settling on his arm making him stop.

It seemed Susan had had enough, though, her face red and twisted.

“You don’t know what you’re talkin about, you _bitch_.”

“Oh, ho, I don’t?” Karen’s hands went to her hips. “You get real fuckin’ sad when you drink, Susan, and you don’t fuckin’ shut up so I _know_ what I’m talkin’ about.”

“You keep away from me!” Susan hissed, turning on her heel and striding towards the fire pit.

Karen scoffed, for once not looking delighted that she’d gotten the upper-hand. “ _Gladly._ ”

Turning, she, too, strode away, nearing Arthur and Ada. Lifting her head, she stopped abruptly as she caught sight of them, her gaze flicking between them. Her eyes settled on Ada and her lips pressed together. Then, she turned, heading in another direction.

Swallowing, Ada released Arthur’s arm as he turned to her, arching an eyebrow.

She gave a small smile as she lowered her voice. “It’s better if we just leave them to it, let them get it all out.”

He nodded, then his hand lifted and rubbed her arm as he sighed, his eyes scanning the rest of the camp. “Let’s find Sadie, see what’s been goin’ on.”

They found their friend down by the river, guarding the small path. Her features lit up at the sight of them, shouldering her rifle and striding towards them.

“Hey, I got a plan to get John, now,” she said before either of them could even open their mouths.

“You do?” Arthur didn’t sound particularly surprised.

She nodded, keeping her voice low. “Yeah, we can’t all go, though, it’ll be too suspicious. I’ve just had to talk Abigail out of comin’ with me, for Jack’s sake, and she’s mad as hell.”

“I’m comin’ with you,” Arthur answered instantly.

Ada pressed her lips together slightly but said nothing.

Sadie inclined her head at him. “All right. Now, we obviously ain’t tellin’ Dutch.”

Ada almost laughed. “Yeah, good idea.”

The older woman turned her gaze to her. “Can you stay here and just, make sure he doesn’t suspect anythin’? Say we’ve gone huntin’ or somethin’?”

“Yeah, sure.” 

_Maybe we’ll just have another explosive argument, that’ll keep him occupied._

“Thanks. We shouldn’t take long but, just incase.”

“Of course.” She raised her eyebrows, releasing a breath. “Look after each other, please.”

“We will, I promise.” Her friend’s features softened for a moment before she was patting Arthur’s arm and heading back up towards the camp. “C’mon, we ain’t got a lot of time.”

“All right, give me a minute.”

Ada’s gaze shifted from Sadie’s back to meet Arthur’s, a light smile pulling at her lips. He returned it as his hand went to her arm again, squeezing gently.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Bye. Be safe, please.”

“I will.” His smile lingered as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then he was turning and following after Sadie.

Ada folded her arms as she watched him walk away, her heart twisting slightly. He was eager to get back out there, to be useful, to save his brother, she understood that, but she’d only just got him back, what if—

_No, no, don’t think about that... He’s with Sadie, they’ll both be fine._

Occupied, she needed to keep herself occupied.

Blowing out a breath, she headed back up to the camp, reaching it just in time to see them riding away. No one looked up, unbothered. It was like she could feel the very life had gone out of the camp, and she knew it couldn’t all be down to Molly’s death, though that was still going to be raw.

She found her few things on Arthur’s bed, grateful that whoever had set it up had taken the initiative and grouped their things together.

It was a lovely, strange mile-stone, a quiet acceptance of what they were.

How long would that acceptance last, though? She glanced up, trying to find if anyone was watching her but, again, people were unbothered.

_It’s in their minds, though._

_Stop it._

She pulled a blanket down across the small space, the garment acting as a curtain so she could change in privacy. With Arthur having ripped most of the buttons off of her blouse, not that she’d complained _too_ much, though she _had_ complained as they’d dressed, earning a smirk from him, she’d had to just wear the flimsy corset and her jacket, buttoning it entirely and praying they wouldn’t be stopped on the way back. It was a crisp, almost cold day but she and Arthur had moved quickly, having no difficulty in hunting the turkeys and then cantering back.

She pulled on a light blue blouse, one that she’d bought from a group of travellers she and Sadie had encountered, the colour reminding her of a shirt Arthur had.

She’d worn it the day he’d returned, almost like she’d known. Then again, she wore it nearly every single day so she couldn’t really put it down to fate.

After buttoning it, she brushed the blanket aside and stepped out, tucking the blouse into her trousers. She left her gunbelt and jacket on the bed, not planning on leaving the camp due to her mission, and there were plenty of guns around if trouble came.

Her gaze drifted to Dutch’s tent as she straightened the sleeves. The opening of it moved gently with the breeze and she could just glimpse him in there, lying on the bed, napping, possibly.

_That makes this a lot easier._

She was planning on just sitting on Arthur’s bed and keeping her eyes fixed on the tent when Jack’s faint giggle drew her attention away, making her heart twinge.

_Abigail._

Rounding the wagon, she found mother and son a short distance away from the camp, Abigail sat up against her tree, hugging her legs as she watched her son draw in the mud with a stick. Ada glanced back over her shoulder to Dutch’s tent.

_He won’t move, and if he does then, well, guess I could start up that argument._

Abigail raised her head at the sound of someone approaching, twigs snapping beneath boots. Ada smiled warmly as the woman’s alert gaze met her own.

“Hey, Abigail.”

She relaxed a little, letting out a breath. “Hey, Annie.”

Ada sat down next to her with a soft groan, wiping her hands against her thighs, watching Jack along with his mother. He was drawing random shapes and swirls, then occasionally stabbing the mud with the end of the stick and giggling at the sound it made as he pulled it back out. A smile pulled at her lips.

“I’m gonna have to wash all his clothes, _again_ ,” Abigail sighed, prompting a soft laugh from Ada.

“Can’t you just leave them? From how frequently and earnestly he gets them dirty, I think it’s a strong choice.”

His mother huffed out a sound, maybe a laugh. “Can’t have him being too much like his father.”

Ada turned her head to her, her smile fading a little. “How are you doing?” she asked quietly.

Abigail kept her gaze on Jack, gripping her legs. “Arthur’s gone with her, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

She released a breath. “Good.” She nodded a few times then. “That makes me feel a little better.”

“That’s good.”

They fell into silence as Ada watched Jack, too, the boy now trying to squish leaves into the mud.

“How are you doin’?”

Abigail’s quiet, gentle question made her blink as her gaze returned to her.

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

She searched her features, finding genuine concern there, knowing there was more to it. So she took a chance.

“Abigail...” she began, lowering her voice even further, almost whispering. “... What Molly said, about me—”

Abigail took her hand, shaking her head. “It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it here, now.”

She swallowed lightly as Abigail squeezed her hand. “Okay.”

The other woman nodded then released her, hugging her legs again. Ada gazed at her for a few moments longer before looking back to Jack, playing with her ring. The small act of kindness was threatening to bring tears to her eyes. She couldn’t tell if Abigail believed it or not, but the very notion that she would listen, in time, bolstered her.

They sat in silence for a little while, both women thinking about the men they loved and not saying so for fear of upsetting the other. It wasn’t until the boy raced after a butterfly that Abigail sighed and pushed herself up with a groan.

“Come find me later,” she murmured before striding off after her son, her skirt billowing in the breeze.

Ada watched her go as she got to her feet, trying to ignore the twinge in her heart.

_If anything happens, I’ll get them out._

_Don’t think about that._

She made her way back to the centre of the camp, looking to anyone who might be watching, which they weren’t, as if she was just getting herself something to drink. She poured herself some fresh water from a wooden jug into a tin cup, taking a long drink, her eyes fixed on Dutch’s tent. He was still in there, still sleeping.

This was turning out to be a lot more boring than she’d expected. Swallowing the last of the water, she placed the cup down and wiped her mouth.

_What to do, what to do, what to do..._

_..._

_Guess I could take a watch._

No one had taken over from Sadie so it left the small lane unguarded and, after the last couple of days, she could do with just one day of no bad surprises. Returning to Arthur’s tent, she pulled her jacket on and then secured her gunbelt around her waist before taking one last glance at Dutch’s tent and then heading around the wagon to the path.

It was quiet around here, almost eerily so sometimes, the only sound the rustling of the trees, some small animals, or the gentle rush of the river. Taking up Sadie’s position, she angled her back so it faced the camp and she could keep an eye on the other bank and the path that stretched ahead. 

It took all of two minutes before her mind began to wander.

When they returned with John, and they _would_ return, she’d insist to Arthur that they make a plan. She knew he wouldn’t just leave, not unless he knew everyone would be okay. The gang would have to be in a good position... or not a gang at all.

Increasingly, it was seeming like the latter was the way fate was taking them.

If only they could get some people to leave, others would then go, too... maybe if they got John, Abigail and Jack away—

She fell forward with a sharp gasp as something blunt collided against the back of her head, and the world went black.

* * *

“... stop it, I want that...” 

“Nuh-uh, I gots my hands on it first!”

“That ain’t fair!”

“Shut up!”

Her head ached and her face felt wet. Slowly opening her eyes, she had to blink several times for her vision to focus. At first all she saw was leaves and trees, realising the wetness on her face was due to her cheek being pressed against mud.

“He said I could have what I wants!”

“He said _we_ could have what we wants!”

Her gaze slid up to the two men sat nearby, one of them holding her jacket, the other her boots. Ah, that’s why she felt so cold.

Murfree Brood. They had to be. She’d never encountered them, but it was hard to not recognise them for who they were.

Something grabbed her foot suddenly and she gasped sharply, her head twisting to see what it was. 

A third Murfree grinned at her, spit sliding out of the corners of his mouth. He laughed gleefully, gripping her ankle tightly. “Hey, lady, you got pretty toes, I’m gonna cuts off one little toe first, then all the other pink little toes, then I’m gonna wear ‘em as a pretty pink necklace.”

_Oh, fuck..._

“Hey, hey, she’s awake!” one of the other men said, the argument swiftly ending.

Gritting her teeth, her heart and head pounding, she tried to push herself up before realising her wrists had been tied together tightly. Too tightly. Her fingers were tingling from the lack of circulation.

“ _Pretty, pretty toes..._ ” The Murfree holding her foot sang, his other hand searching in the pocket of his overalls.

The other two men stepped closer, leaning over her.

The one holding her jacket, patches of long, thin hair on his head, grinned, revealing missing teeth. “I’m gonna cut your hair, it’s so bright and pretty.”

Her gaze darted down as she suddenly felt the cold flat of a knife against her foot. The drooling man giggled, waving the knife. “I can’t wait to get me a pretty new necklace—”

He yelled in shock as her other leg lashed out and her heel struck him in the nose, sending him falling back. Grabbing at his face, he howled in pain, sobbing, and she tried to push herself up. The man with thin hair dropped the jacket and grabbed her shoulders, though, shaking her hard and making her already sore head spin.

“ _That ain’t nice!_ ” he yelled, and she could hear the other man trying to console the crying one.

“ _Fuck off_ ,” she hissed through her teeth, feeling queasy and cold.

“That ain’t nice either!” He shook her again and she closed her eyes tightly.

Then he dropped her and she grunted as her back collided with the ground.

“You okay, Den?”

The crying man whimpered in reply, blood seeping through the fingers he held against his face. The man who held her boots, his hair dark and balding, glared at her, baring his teeth.

The man above her huffed out a breath before lunging down, his arm sweeping out, and he scooped the knife up. Turning back to her, his other hand gripped the front of her shirt and he tugged her upper body off the ground, making her groan.

His face inches from hers as he leaned over, spit landed on her cheeks as he hissed, “I’m gonna cut your hair off and you’re gonna apologise to Den for bein’ a nasty _bitch_ and then you’re gonna make it up to him and—”

Short gunfire erupted.

The Murfrees barely had time to cry out. She stared at the man standing over her as a bullet tore through his face, spots of blood landing on hers, and his grip instantly loosened on her as he died and then his body was crumbling, falling on top of her as she fell back.

Gasping out her breaths in shock as she landed, her eyes wide, she felt panic clawing its way up her throat as the dead man lay on her, his features now unrecognisable. Gritting her teeth, she grunted as it took three attempts to shove him off of her completely.

Sucking in deep, harsh breaths, she then went to turn over, wanting to see who had saved her, when a shadow fell across her.

“Fuckin’ inbred trash,” Colm O’Driscoll tutted, his gun by his side as he looked down at the body.

In her peripheral vision, she saw men moving behind him, going to the bodies and their little camp, but she just stared up at him.

_Oh,_ **_fuck_ ** _..._

Holstering his gun, Colm’s gaze then shifted to her and he smiled. Bending at the knees, he gripped her under the arms. “Come on, darlin’, don’t wanna be hangin’ ‘round here too long.”

Hauling her up with a grunt, she winced, finding that her feet were so cold she could barely feel them as she stood.

“Jesus, you’re shiverin’. Hey, Zach, hand me that...”

A tall dark-haired man with a large beard picked her jacket up and tossed it to Colm who caught it and then draped it around her shoulders. She just continued to stare at him, silent.

He hummed as he removed a knife from his belt with one hand and gripped her arm with the other, keeping her hands out so he could cut through the rope. It took a couple of attempts but then her hands were free, and she hissed out a breath as she started to rub at the red marks they had left, blood rushing back into her fingers.

“These yours?”

She glanced at Colm as he accepted her boots from Zach, arching an eyebrow.

She nodded silently.

“All right.” He dropped them near her feet and turned away, his hands going to his hips as he surveyed the small camp, watching his men search the bodies of the Murfrees.

After tugging her jacket on, Ada then bent down and pulled the boots back on, tying them tightly. Her gaze darted about the ground, trying to locate her guns and gunbelt. They were nowhere to be seen.

**_Fuck._ **

Once she’d finished tying them, straightening, she still felt cold so she folded her arms tightly, trying to warm herself. Her eyes lifting, she found Zach stood a few feet away, watching her.

_Probably making sure I don’t go anywhere._

_Wonderful._

She still felt queasy, too, possibly from the knock to her head... and also the Murfree’s destroyed face which she was very much avoiding looking at.

“All right, let’s go, boys.”

The men, seven of them, started to move at Colm’s announcement, and the man himself approached her once more, nodding his head in the direction they were heading. 

“Come on, darlin’, our camp ain’t too far away.” 

He held an arm out, gesturing for her to walk first. She paused for a moment, before moving with a long exhale. What choice did she have?

He fell into step with her and rubbed his hands together, glancing at her with a smile. “We heard all the hollerin’ and fancied havin’ a little fun. Who’d have guessed what we’d come back with, huh?”

She remained silent.

“Oh, you ain’t gonna talk to me, is that it?”

Silence.

“Ain’t gonna thank your uncle for savin’ your life?”

Silence.

... and she felt very, _very_ queasy.

“Ahh, that’s all right, I didn’t do it for the—”

She stopped abruptly and doubled over, vomiting onto the damp grass. Her eyes were shut tightly but she heard Colm let out a whistle before feeling a hand rubbing her back.

“Jesus, girl... All right, get it out...”

She heaved again but this time nothing came out, so she spat to rid the awful taste from her mouth, sucking in deep breaths. She was shaking and she didn’t know if it was from the cold still or from how peculiar she felt.

“Zach, can you...?”

She just had time to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand before she was suddenly swept up with a gasp. Staring at Zach as he carried her bridal-style, she tried to push herself out of his arms, albeit weakly.

“What are you—”

“Don’t fuckin’ start, all right, just let the man carry you,” Colm sighed as they walked, Zach looking ahead and not saying a word.

She pressed her lips together, folding her arms, her body tense, but again... no choice.

The camp was only a few minutes away, and despite the current circumstances it felt good to have some time to try and breathe and settle her stomach. It gave her a chance to recognise the woodland, too. They weren’t too far away from Beaver Hollow, she thought, they couldn’t be, the sun was still relatively in the same position. She could escape, she could get back, maybe even before Sadie and Arthur returned. There’d be no need for him to worry, God, she didn’t want to worry him, not when they’d just got each other back.

The trees thinned out into a small clearing and the men broke off to either the fire pit or one of the three tents set up. Two wagons resided to the right and there were probably four or five men here, talking and laughing. She kept her arms folded tightly, her gaze darting between them.

“This way.”

Her eyes returned to Colm, staring at his back and watching him head to the smallest tent, Zach following him. A blonde man sat on a chair outside it, a small table next to him, though he quickly rose from it and trotted away as Colm neared, and as they approached Zach lowered her and set her down on it. She resisted the instinct to thank him, instead just keeping her mouth shut and staring at the ground. He turned and walked away instantly though, not waiting for gratitude.

Humming again, Colm picked up a cloth from the table and dunked it into a bucket of water, squeezing some out of it before turning to her.

As he gripped her chin with his free hand, she hissed as the wet cloth touched her skin, ice cold, which was the last thing she needed. He chuckled, continuing to wipe the specks of blood and mud from her face.

“I don’t think you could be any more pissed off with me, huh?”

She just looked at him, her features tight, jaw clenched.

He chuckled again, wiping hard at her skin. “Don’t tell me you’re the strong, silent type now, huh? I kinda miss you bein’ all loud and shouty.”

She didn’t saw a word, just let him clean her face, willing to make allowances now that she hadn’t been tied up again and he hadn’t demanded a ‘thank you’.

“What happened to your face?” he said after barely two seconds, gesturing at her scar.

The gentle tone of the question surprised her. 

“Nothing.”

_Damn it._

“Oh, she speaks,” he grinned, gentle tone gone, and tilted his head. “Dutch do that? Or one of his boys?”

She was already shaking her head, her brow dipping at the insinuation. “No, no... Pinkerton agent did it.”

“When?”

_Well, I’m already talking and he’s not gonna shut up..._

“When we had to escape from where we were staying, a place called Shady Belle.” 

“Ah, yeah, I heard about that.” The grin returned as he wiped at her chin. “How _is_ Dutch doin’? Heard he’s just come back from a nice trip.”

Exhaling a weary breath, she moved her head away from his grip, his movements pausing. “What are you doing here, Colm.”

He raised his eyebrows innocently. “Here? Just cleanin’ up my wayward niece.”

She wasn’t in any kind of a mood for this. “I mean this far east.”

Colm grinned, placing his free hand on his chest. “I’m here by invitation, darlin’. You met him, didn’t you, Angelo Bronte? Italian feller, greasy as they come?” She gave no reaction to the mention of the man who’d held Jack and she’d once been hell-bent on killing, but Colm was continuing anyway. “He extended a little invitation to me some time ago. I’d say it’s been a very prosperous relationship indeed, despite Dutch killin’ him which I’m pretty pissed about but, hey, from it I got Dutch cornered, got me better guns and business here, got my niece back—”

“You don’t have me back.”

He sighed, dabbing repetitively at her nose and making her pull her head back to try and get it away. “C’mon, join us, Adaline, it don’t make no sense for you to be runnin’ ‘round alone—”

She snatched the cloth out of his hand, wiping it against her forehead because it suddenly felt warm. “I’m not alone.”

He chuckled, folding his arms as he leaned against the table. “Ah, yes... your little affair with Arthur.”

She froze, her eyes darting to him. “What—”

He tilted his head. “That’s how we knew where you was campin’, darlin’, down at that big house, Shady Belle. Followed you back there after your stay at that fancy hotel. Kieran just decided to take a little walk at the wrong time—”

She rose to her feet, raging. “ _You bastard_ —”

His hand was already on her shoulder, easily shoving her back into the chair. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a bastard. I ain’t any worse than Dutch, though.”

She fell silent once more, folding her arms and staring out across the grass.

He laughed, and she didn’t think she could hate him any more. “Nah, you can’t argue with that. ‘specially with all the time you’ve been spendin’ with him—”

“Where’s Thomas.”

He blinked in surprise as her gaze met his, then smiled. “You believe me, then?”

She released another weary breath. “I just want to know the truth, Colm. I’m tired of it all.”

Her uncle shifted his stance slightly, tilting his head. “Well, he ain’t here.”

That was it, then, finally, what she’d known all along, he _is_ dead, he—

“He’s out with scouting groups.” Her eyes met his again as he smiled. “Tryna get rid of the last of these Murfree fuckers. This is good land.”

She stared at him.

It had to be lies.

“You’re a sick man—”

He just spoke over her. “We’re regroupin’ soon, though, west of here.”

She’d had enough, again. 

Standing, she smiled tightly. “Well, you can send me a letter when he gets back.”

She was about to stride away when his hand was on her shoulder once more and he pushed her back down, chuckling, it all too easy as she was still a little unsteady on her feet.

“Every time I forget just how damn funny you are.” He placed a hand on his hip, the other on the table as he looked at her. “You know you ain’t goin’ anywhere. Sooner you get used to it, sooner you’ll be happier.”

Smiling brightly, he then straightened and clapped his hands together. “All right, I’ll see if I can get someone to get you some food. Don’t you move, now!”

He strode away, whistling, and she stared at his retreating back, her lip almost curling into a snarl, her fists clenched. It had to all be a lie. Another game he was playing for his own, unknown amusement. It was all too convenient, Thomas not being here, meeting with him ‘soon’. What the hell did ‘soon’ mean, anyway? Well, she wasn’t going to hang around long enough to find out. Her gaze shifting from Colm, she played with the cloth in her hands, surveying the camp.

It was a mess in the most sparse of ways, if that was possible. Another table beside one of the other tents, what looked like it had maps strewn across it with a couple of tins and an empty glass bottle. A few blankets balled up here and there along with saddlebags, even more tins lying around. The wagons were half-filled with a few sealed crates and sacks filled with something she couldn’t identify, unevenly shaped. She could hear horses but couldn’t see them, they must be somewhere behind her or one of the wagons. The men sat around the fire, talking, sleeping or drinking. Zach was with them, watching her. Her eyes quickly left his and looked to the treeline. She could see a man there, guarding. If she just waited until it was dark then she could sneak out and hide in the trees and be back in camp by morning and then—

“Hello!”

She jolted, her head whipping to the side.

An Irish boy, well, young man, really, with shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde hair, possibly a few years younger than her, stopped abruptly, raising his hands as the grin faded into a sheepish smile. “Woah, hey, sorry. I forget how loud m’ voice is.”

She eyed him, still. “What do you want.”

His smiled widened a little more. “Nothin’, really, I just wanted to say hello.”

“Why.”

He was rather taken aback at that. “... Because it’s polite.”

She just continued to stare at him, trying to work out what his ulterior motives could be. He lowered his hands and took a few steps closer.

“I’m Peter, the camp doctor. And, well, I’m here for another reason, too. Colm wants me to have a look at ye.”

“I’m fine.” 

He nodded, taking a slight breath. “Sure, sure, he just wants me to double check.”

“I’m _fine_.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, lowering his voice gently. “Look, _I_ might be polite but I think ye know Colm always gets his way.”

Her jaw moved. Well, he wasn’t wrong there. Shrugging, she looked away, releasing a breath.

“Fine.”

Taking the granted permission, he took the last few steps closer and cleared his throat. “May I?”

She glanced at him and his raised hands and nodded.

“Thank you.” One hand settled on her forehead, the other on the back, feeling the small lump from where she’d been hit, which made her wince.

Fucking Murfrees. She hadn’t had time to think about it but now she did... what the hell were they doing so close to camp? Trying to take back their land? Shit, another thing to worry about.

“The bump should go in a few days,” Peter was murmuring, “Ye’re a little warm, too, but that could be from all the excitement.”

_Lord, give me strength._

She raised her eyes to him. “Yes, because I’ve never experienced excitement before.”

He laughed sheepishly. “Yes, sorry, I bet ye have. Does ye’re head hurt?”

“It aches a little, yes.”

“I’ll get ye some water, you should be okay tomorrow.” He removed his hands and she looked at him, watching his nose wrinkle as he studied her. Smiling gently, he gestured at her face. “What’s this?”

She assumed what he was referring to. “A scar.”

He laughed nervously again and she probably would have felt guilty if she wasn’t so pissed off. 

“Stupid question. How’d it happen?”

“A knife.”

“Right...” He cleared his throat, then pointed at her throat. “And this other scar? How’d this happen?”

“From when a man held a knife to my throat as Dutch van der Linde killed my father.”

There was a pause. It went on so long her eyes rose to look at him to see what he was doing. His mouth was moving slightly, a sympathetic frown on his features.

“I know about that. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

She just hummed, his sincerity finally starting to make the guilt creep in.

“Does anywhere else hurt?” he asked gently after a moment.

“No.”

“You sure?”

_Go easy on him._

Licking her lips, her eyebrows rose slightly. “My wrists ache but it’s fine.”

“Yeah, that’ll just be from how they’d had ye tied, it should have gone by tomorrow. Let me know if it doesn’t. Ye’re shakin’, too, lemme get ye a blanket...”

She watched him duck into the tent and come out moments later with a thick green blanket, allowing him to drape it around her. She was about to ease up a little more and thank him when his hand went for the cloth.

“C’mere, ye still got some blood on ye—”

She moved her hand away. “I can do it.”

He instantly drew his hand back, smiling lightly. “All right. It’s just on ye’re left cheek there.”

She began to wipe at it, expecting him to make some kind of an awkward, drawn out goodbye, but he just stood there, his hands clasped together. 

“Can I ask ye a question?”

Guilt was still very much lingering so she didn’t want to abruptly turn him away. “Sure.” 

“What’s he like?”

She paused in her wiping, taking a moment to fold the cloth. “Who?”

“Dutch.”

Ada exhaled a breath, having half-expected it. “I don’t want to talk about him right now.”

Was this his ulterior motive? Had Colm asked him to gain her trust and then enquire about Dutch? See what state he was in? She had no love for either men but giving information to Colm that might hurt Dutch was something she’d never do. Hurting Dutch meant hurting Arthur, unfortunately.

Peter was all apologies. “Sure, sorry, I was just curious.”

_I bet you were... but maybe he just genuinely is._

Glancing at him, she then looked away again, staring at the ground as she twisted the cloth in her hands.

“What do you want to talk about, then?”

_Why isn’t he_ **_going_ ** _... Lord, please give me all your strength._

“I don’t.”

“Oh, all right.” The guilt came again at his crestfallen tone, but he brightened a moment later as she looked at him. “I’ll get ye that water and maybe somethin’ to eat, yeah?”

“That would be nice.”

“All right. I won’t be long!”

Watching him walk away, she took in a long breath.

_You can be back at camp by morning, just wait until it’s dark and most of them are asleep._

_Just wait._

* * *

The tent was to be hers that night, Peter told her when he returned with a bowl of tasteless stew and a tin cup of warm water. He said it with a smile, like it was a lovely treat. Looking at the state of the camp, it seemed like it was, though.

Situated a little way from the camp fire, they could still keep an eye on her, and she sat on the ground outside it, the blanket still wrapped around her, staring at the grass as darkness fell, lost in her thoughts, mentally mapping out the area and, depending on which main road she was closest to, the quickest way back to Beaver Hollow.

No one approached her or said a word, even Peter left her alone, having finally taken the hint, hopefully, but every now and then she’d look up and find Zach’s eyes still on her. She’d just return her gaze to the ground.

To them she probably just looked tired, dejected, resigned, but she was just biding her time, waiting for them to relax a little more, to drink more, to sleep, to leave longer gaps between when they looked at her.

She did feel odd, though, hot all over, almost feeling hot _inside_ , the sensation having overtaken her rather suddenly about an hour ago, but maybe it was just the blanket. She kept it on, though, the night cold. Her head pounded still, too, but, as Peter had said, that would go soon.

She glanced up at the men. Colm was sat amongst them, smoking a cigarette and drinking from a flask, quiet, smiling, looking at each man as they spoke. Zach was beside him and, thankfully, for once not looking at her, watching the flame of his match as he lit his own cigarette.

A loud laugh went up suddenly from the group and she took her chance.

Pushing the blanket off, she crawled under the table and around the tent. She hoped they would just assume she’d gone in the tent, but she knew that was just wishful thinking; one of them would check, just in case, most likely Zach. 

So, knowing time was precious and keeping low, she instantly ran to the trees, straightening only when she was several feet into the woodland. The density of the trees made it seem darker than it was but she hoped that would aid her.

Then she heard shouting from the camp. They had realised what had happened.

She kept running, bowing slightly as she went up an incline. It didn’t matter where she was going, she’d find her way back to Beaver Hollow, she had to, she had to get—

A bullet sounded, then more shouts.

“Don’t fuckin’ kill her!” she heard Colm thunder over the rest of the voices, sounding closer.

With a grimace, she tried to run faster, her leg starting to ache, head pounding, the _odd_ feeling lingering no matter how many deep breaths she inhaled. The men were drawing near, though, she could hear them calling to one another.

“Here! She’s this way!”

_Shit._

She was headed down the hill now, slipping slightly on the mud but she kept her footing. She could hear the river, close by, maybe only a few minutes away. If she got to it she could cross it, and then disappear into the trees there, or maybe even hide by some of the large rocks that were usually dotted along it, maybe she could bide her time and then—

Someone barrelled into her, knocking her to the ground.

Landing with a loud groan, her teeth slammed together, narrowly missing her tongue. The person was grabbing at her shoulders, trying to keep her down, but she was thrashing too much, trying to crawl forward as she hissed out sounds.

“Stop, stop it, okay, he’s really angry!”

Peter.

"Let me go,” she hissed, striking her elbow back and knocking him in the chest.

He grunted at the impact but was stronger than he looked, or was she weaker? She certainly felt weak, _drained_ , even.

“I can’t, I’m sorry, please, the others are comin’, they won’t be as nice—”

“I have to get back,” she was hissing, still trying to crawl forward, kicking her legs back in an attempt to push him away.

Tears were pricking at her eyes as she thought about Arthur, imagined him returning to camp, unable to find her, no one knowing where she was, what he would be thinking.

_I have to get back to him, I just told him I love him, I can’t leave him, I can’t—_

Peter’s weight was suddenly off of her and she released a breath, but before she could surge forward, one hand gripped the back of her jacket and an arm slid under her and then she was hauled up and on to someone’s shoulder.

Zach’s.

He was instantly walking, heading back towards the camp, his arm like a vice around her lower back, keeping her in place. That didn’t stop her from trying to push herself up, though, her hands gripping at the back of his jacket, her legs kicking out again. He didn’t move or say anything, just continued walking, and her struggles were useless.

_Why_ was she so drained?

She could hear the rest of the men catching their breath or coughing out curses, not entirely delighted at having been made to unexpectedly sprint through the woods. She ignored them, trying to blink the tears away because the last thing she was going to let happen would be Colm seeing her cry.

He was angry? Good. So was she, but she would bide her time until she got the upper-hand because, God help her, she would.

Zach halted abruptly and when he set her down, surprisingly carefully, she turned and found they were back at the camp, the fire glowing to her right. It didn’t have her attention, though, because a foot away stood Colm, flask in one hand, finger tapping against it, resting his weight on one foot, his other hand hanging by his side, cigarette resting between his fingers.

His gaze was fixed on her, hard, unreadable. She held it, her chin lifted, breathing even.

What had he expected?

His tongue ran over his teeth and then he turned his head to the side, hawking and spitting. Tilting his head, his voice was light.

“If you try that again I will keep you tied to a post, you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you _understand?_ ”

_“Yes.”_

Taking a drag on the cigarette, he nodded leisurely a few times before dropping it to the ground and pressing it into the damp grass with his boot.

“Well, all right, then.”

His hand suddenly lashed out, slapping her. It wasn’t particularly hard but the surprise of it was enough to have her already unsteady legs falling from beneath her. Zach caught her arms in time, though, holding her up, and she swiftly shook one of his hands off so she could raise her own to her stinging cheek.

Hissing out breaths through her teeth, shaking from _what_ now she didn’t know, her eyes tracked Colm, the man having already turned away, watching him move back towards the fire to join his men.

“All right, where was we, then,” he called out loudly, resuming his seat as they continued their conversations like nothing had happened, their backs to her.

Zach was still gripping one of her arms so she wrenched it out of his grip, though she knew it came free more from him allowing it than her own strength.

“I think it’d be best if you went to sleep.”

She stiffened slightly at his voice, American, deep but quiet, and for some reason it made the tears return to her eyes. Sniffing, she dropped her hand from her cheek and swallowed hard. Without saying a word, she turned and moved past him, heading for the tent. If she’d deigned to look at the men around the fire she would have found Peter watching her, regretful, torn.

Stooping and entering the tent, taking the blanket she’d left at the entrance with her, she settled on her knees, letting the flap fall closed behind her. It was tiny, only enough space for her to lie down and maybe lay a few items next to her. She only had her jacket and boots. She just removed the jacket, and realised as she did so that her shirt was sticking to her skin, a light sheen of sweat covering her. Had the run been that strenuous?

Lying down on the bedroll, it was thin but it’d do, she pulled the blanket over herself, rested her head on her arm and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come quickly.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

Tomorrow she would come up with a plan.

Tomorrow she would leave.

* * *

The next morning she could barely move. Her entire body ached and she felt hot and cold all at once, shaking.

Peter, thankfully, was the one to come and check on her when she didn’t emerge, guilt still troubling him. Taking one look at her, guilt turned to concern and he placed the back of his hand against her forehead.

“Think ye got a fever,” he murmured, pressing his lips together. “Nothin’ too serious I don’t think, but we’re gonna have to wait for it to break.”

Ada just nodded slightly, her throat too sore for her to speak.

“I’ll get ye some water and see what medicines I’ve got, all right?”

He smiled gently before exiting, and she just felt like crying.

_Just let me go, just take me to a doctor in town, I don’t want to be here..._

“She ain’t up yet?” Colm, stood right outside her tent by the sounds of it.

To no surprise, so was Zach. “Peter says she got a fever.”

“What? Awh, shit...” She heard him hawk and spit. “... We’re still movin’ on today. You and Peter look after her, do what you can, keep up.”

“Will do, boss.”

She heard Colm walk away, whistling to himself.

A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. They were going to move on, taking her further away from Beaver Hollow. And with how awful she felt... It could be days before she could even sit up without feeling queasy. She’d had a couple of fevers before as a child, could remember how awful she’d felt for days, how her mother had tended to her, had tried to soothe her as she’d cried, wanting to play with her brother.

Peter returned then with a small bag and a skin of water, and she was suddenly struck with how young he was. Maybe even still a teenager. What the hell was he doing here as a doctor? Could he even look after her properly?

She licked her dry lips and swallowed, wincing with the motion. “Take me to the doctor in town,” she rasped.

He glanced at her, and she thought she saw guilt in his eyes before he resumed looking through his bag. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Please...” she murmured, and she thought she had him when he paused again, his eyes closing briefly.

“Ada, I can’t,” he whispered, placing his hand over her clammy one unexpectedly. “I’m sorry but I can’t and ye know it. But I will take care o’ ye and ye will be fine, I promise.”

She just looked at him, knowing her eyes were shining. She didn’t care, now, if she cried, she just felt so awful, every single part of her aching.

“Pete, we got ten minutes then we gotta go,” Zach called, and Peter’s hand left hers, quickly going through his bag.

“All right!”

He had her drink some kind of a tonic, the thick, syrupy, sugary taste of it nearly making her gag.

“I think you just got t’ sweat it out, all right?”

‘ _I think_ ’ didn’t fill her with confidence.

She nearly burst into tears when Peter helped her sit up and shifted her to the mouth of the tent so Zach could reach in and pick her up. Her body hurt so much but she knew Colm wouldn’t make any allowances for her. Knew even if she hadn’t tried to escape last night that he still wouldn’t have.

She was placed in one of the wagons on a pile of blankets, another one placed over her, and Peter sat in with her as Zach drove it. She stared up at the white canopy of the wagon, feeling every stone and dip the wheels of it went over. It felt almost like a dream, to the point where when she closed her eyes and fell asleep and _did_ dream, she was still lying in the wagon, but now her mother was at her side, fussing and stroking her hair from her face.

“You’ll be all right, you’ll be okay, Mama’s here, darling...”

Peter pretended not to notice when, after she awoke only a few minutes later, the wagon jolting her out of it, silent tears poured down her cheeks.

She didn’t know how many days passed, the fact they moved every day not helping. Whenever she was awake and somewhat lucid, she was either in the wagon with Peter at her side, or in a tent. It sometimes took her a while to work out if it was real or not as her dreams were so vivid.

Her mother came to her often, humming a lullaby like she used to, telling her she’d be all right soon, that the weather is improving. Sean came, too, asking her what the hell she was doing, why she was wasting a perfectly good sunny day when she could be out robbing, making him proud. He was always smiling.

Then there were the dreams she had about Arthur.

Sometimes, she thought she could feel his arm around her, or his voice was in her ear, murmuring to her that she was okay, she was fine, he loved her even though she was a sweaty mess.

Then sometimes he’d be at the other end of the tent, asking where she was, why she was here.

No matter who came, though, they always looked slightly off, like it was them but wasn’t them. Her mother’s eyes were a different colour, Sean smiled differently, Arthur was expressionless, his voice bland.

Several times she thought she’d died and was in hell.

What she wouldn’t remember was Peter sat by her side for most if not all of it, hearing her mutterings and murmurings, hearing her mumble to people who weren’t there, barely able to make out what she was saying. Sometimes he’d have to place a hand on her shoulder to keep her still as she thrashed a little, telling her quietly she was all right, she was okay.

Zach was the only other person to visit, bringing Peter food and water for him and Ada. Sometimes he could get her to eat, when she was having a lucid period, could get her to have half a bottle of a tonic then some water before she’d be out again.

He thought about changing her out of her sweat-soaked clothes, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he placed fresh garments he believed would fit by the opening of the tent, in case she woke in the rare times he wasn’t there.

And he kept watch, keeping his promise of looking after her.

* * *

When she awoke, she knew something was different.

She wasn’t hot or cold, just normal. She could see and hear properly, her body didn’t ache. She felt drained still but nowhere near as much as before. She was so thirsty, too, and hungry; she could feel her stomach groaning in protest.

Staring up at the roof of the tent, she just took in a few, even breaths, hoping this wasn’t a dream.

“Oh, hey.” Her gaze dropping sharply, she found Peter sat just outside the slightly open flap, smiling widely. “You’re awake.”

As he ducked his head into the tent, she swallowed, feeling like nails were in her throat.

“Water,” she croaked.

Peter paused, raising his eyebrows a little. “What?”

“Water.”

“Oh, shit, yeah, sorry...” His head ducked out before it returned again moments later, and he leaned in, offering her a skinful of water.

Pushing herself up, her arms shook a little but her head was fine. Accepting it, she took long sips, her eyes closed. She could feel Peter watching her, but it wasn’t until she finally lowered the skin that he spoke.

“You okay?”

She wiped her mouth with her fingers as she looked at him. “Little hungry.”

“Yeah, you’ve not eaten much, but this is good, means you’ve got ye’re appetite back.” He was grinning now, thoroughly pleased. “I’ll get ye somethin’—”

“How long?” she asked just as he started to turn away.

He understood what she meant, his features softening. “A week.”

She nearly felt sick.

“A _week?_ ” Her already hoarse voice cracked on the word.

_Fuck... We could be anywhere by now._

Peter smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, ye... It wasn’t the worst I’ve seen but it was pretty bad.”

Ada just nodded, her eyes on the blankets covering her legs, trying not to cry. She heard Peter shift slightly.

“Do ye still want somethin’ to eat?”

Clearing her throat, wincing, she shook her head. “It’s all right, I’ll come out and get something. I could do with some fresh air.”

“Yeah, I think that’ll do ye good.”

There was a slight pause in which she met his gaze, and then she allowed a faint smile to lift her lips. “Thank you, for looking after me.”

He shook his head, returning the smile. “It’s all right, no need t’ thank me. ‘m just glad ye’re okay.” Pointing at a corner near him, he continued, “There’s clothes for ye here, they should fit. I’ll be by the fire.”

Before she could thank him again he was gone, the tent flap closing.

Closing her eyes, she ran a hand over her hair as her head bowed, feeling how dry it was but ignoring it for now.

A week.

They could be on the other side of the county, or in another one, miles and miles and miles away. It hurt her unbearably to think of Arthur, to think of how he must be feeling, what he was even doing. Would he be out looking for her? Would gang business keep him away? What if something awful had happened to them all?

She couldn’t cope with it, not now, not with how fragile she felt, so she shoved it to the back of her mind, focusing instead on something smaller; food.

She took her time changing into the odd assemble of black, pinstripe trousers and brown, faintly checked shirt. They were a little big, but once she’d tucked the shirt in and used her belt to tighten the trousers she deemed that they would do. Pulling her boots on, she then neatly folded her beloved blue shirt and her own trousers, and placed them on the bedroll. After running her fingers through a few knots in her hair, she took a breath, licked her dry lips, and moved out of the tent.

She was rather stiff as she straightened so she just stood for a few moments, rolling her shoulders and neck. As she did, grimacing, she surveyed the new camp. They were on top of a hill on a flat patch of grass, and for miles and miles all she could see was the tops of trees, nothing distinguishable anywhere. She took in a breath, fighting the faint feeling of panic that was starting to build.

_It’s all right, you can find your way back to him, you_ **_will_ ** _get back to him..._

_Is he even alive._

**_Stop it._ **

She didn’t want to think about that, that the mission to get John might have been unsuccessful. That _any_ of them could have died.

Exhaling a breath, she looked towards the fire pit. She estimated it must be morning, a couple of hours until noon possibly, and the camp was quiet, a few men still sleeping. There were more blankets and saddlebags dotted around so she assumed they must have picked up some more O’Driscolls along the way, wherever the hell they were heading. She saw no sign of—

“Well, look at you, you made it.”

_... Speak of the Devil and he_ **_shall_ ** _appear._

Turning her head, she watched Colm approach, tin cup in his hand, the other in his pocket, a lazy grin on his lips. It wasn’t until she saw him that she remembered he’d slapped her. It shouldn’t have surprised her but it had; despite the man he was she’d gotten the sense that he wouldn’t lay a hand on her, yes, even despite the fact he’d had her tied up previously. She’d thought there was some part of him that really did care for her, in his twisted way. What a fool she’d been.

She eyed him warily now, grateful that he stopped a few feet away, sipping his coffee.

“I did.”

The grin lingered. “Good, I would’ve hated to waste time buryin’ you.”

_You bastard._

“Come on, boys!” he suddenly called out, in such a loud tone that some of the men sleeping jerked awake and she flinched. “We’re goin’ west to meet with the others.”

His gaze shifting to her, he smiled over the rim of his cup.

She knew what the smile meant; Thomas was supposedly going to be there.

Not giving him a reaction, she asked flatly, “When is this regroup happening.”

He shrugged a shoulder, _still_ smiling. “Couple days.”

Fine. Just a couple of days and then she would have the truth.

* * *

They travelled for another week.

She would have thought it was on purpose if they didn’t move on every single day. They were always moving, heading west she could tell by the sun, but still a week passed with no sign of a regroup.

And so Ada was forced to acclimatise to what life was like in an O’Driscoll camp. 

It was nothing like Dutch’s where there was community and cohesion; here there was no organisation, she was more than certain the men stole from each other, and they found food and drink for themselves. A few would go hunting together and share what they killed but beyond that, nothing. From eavesdropping she gathered they were conducting business as they went, trading, bartering and killing when they stopped at night. She never saw any of it or was asked to go with any of them, though; both not trusted and not allowed to do anything, stuck between being a captive and their boss’s niece.

So with nothing to do, not even a book to read, all she could do was sit and watch and stare and think. _Sulking_ , Colm called it once with a laugh, which just made her press her lips together and made her look like she was sulking even more.

It felt like torture, left with nothing but her thoughts.

She asked Peter if she could assist with anything but he was so adamant that she rest, so polite that he wouldn’t allow it, that to save herself from screaming she just gave up asking. She did sit with him, though, needing something, anything, to do, and she learned from his never-ending stream of consciousness that he had just turned twenty one and only recently come over from Ireland, his father, now a doctor, having known Colm in a former life. So Peter had arrived here, with a letter from his father, and asked around until he found them, and had been welcomed with open arms; there was always limbs to be reattached and wounds to heal. He was excited to be in America, giddy, even, and he either hadn’t witnessed was the O’Driscolls did, ignored it, or was frightened because he didn’t say a bad word against them, didn’t even raise a minor gripe, even when a few jokes were made at his expense. It was nice to make conversation with someone, though, to distract her, and he _had_ saved her life.

She spent all the daytime hours with him, and he eventually did allow her to roll bandages and repair them, though that was it. When they travelled she would sit in a wagon with him, almost bored to tears as they took turns pointing out things they saw.

Zach watched her constantly, even when she bathed in any rivers or lakes they came to, but he never leered, never stared, never even spoke, just stared at a part of the water near her so she was in his peripheral vision, and then above her head when she got out, even though she’d opted to keep her underclothes on. That was useless, though, as they just stuck to her body, but there was no one around to see; no one dared sneak a peek. She quickly realised the men both deeply respected and were kind of afraid of Zach, and she didn’t think it was just to do with how tall he was. He was silent, muscular, and had huge revolvers strapped to his belt and she didn’t doubt that he very much knew how to use them. He shared his food and drink with her, he seemed to have an endless supply of tinned goods, and they sat in silence together, which she didn’t mind one bit. She did murmur a thank you every time, though; she was her mother’s daughter.

His ever watchful gaze gave her no chance to slip away.

At night, tears would trail down her cheeks at knowing Arthur was out there, her heart aching unbearably. What if he thought she was dead, his heart breaking all over again. Would he give up? What if he was grieving her. Spiralling, doing stupid things in disbelief and anger. The darkest, cruellest parts of her mind whispered to her that what if he thought she’d gone, disappeared when she’d had the chance. She was aching to get back to him so much it hurt.

On the fifteenth night of being their captive, she was keeping count now, with the second week spilling over into a third, these insecurities and anxieties swirling in her mind yet again, she sat outside her tent, staring at the ground sullenly.

Zach was sat on a chair a few feet away, whittling something and smoking on a pipe. Peter was asleep a short distance to the right, snoring softly. A few men were talking around a fire some way off, but other than that it was quiet. That’s what surprised her most about the O’Driscoll camp; the quiet. She’d expected raucous laughter, copious drinking and shouting, insults flung this way and that but, no, the men spoke to who they wanted to talk to and got on with what they needed to. Part of her wondered if this was why Colm chose these men to be around him, for the quiet. Maybe they were just the best listeners, the ones least likely to disagree.

Her thoughts lingered on her uncle. He’d barely spoken to her since she’d recovered, only grinning when he caught her eye or bidding her a cheerful good morning or evening when he passed. Other than that, she didn’t see much of him and she liked that just fine. She was... apprehensive of his company now, knowing he wasn’t beyond physically hurting her if she disobeyed him. It made her all the more anxious for whenever there would be this regrouping; who better to make an example of than his own niece?

She couldn’t even think about it, the prospect of being around more O’Driscolls, ones she knew for certain would be rowdier than this group... and also finally knowing Thomas’s fate.

She knew it already, though; he was dead.

Once it was confirmed she was going to leave by any means necessary, but not before—

“Hey, darlin’.”

She caught herself before she flinched. Lifting her eyes, she found Colm sauntering closer, smoking. The apprehension grew; she’d learned that any conversation with him didn’t turn out well.

He coughed and then took a drag, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. “You better get some sleep, we’re all meetin’ up tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Part of her believed he was actually telling the truth this time.

Her eyes followed him as he passed, smiling. “You’re gonna need all your energy for seein’ your brother.”

_I hate you._

Her teeth were clenched so tightly. She didn’t believe it. It was a cruel trick he was playing. 

And she was going to kill him for it. 


	18. The Unlived Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

It was a scorching day, her sixteenth of being an unwilling part of their camp. 

It had been dry for the past few days, but today the sun had decided to make things even more unbearable. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with.

Primarily, today being the day that all the O’Driscoll groups would reunite.

She’d gathered from Peter and overhearing other conversations that Colm’s boys would break off into smaller groups, killing and looting as they went, and then regroup sometime later to see how business was going. It seemed chaotic to her, quite frankly, but Colm wasn’t a man who cared much for order. As long as he was still their leader, they made money, and they feared him then he didn’t care.

It was nearing noon, now, the sun at it’s highest, so they were taking a break amongst the cover of trees, but even the shade didn’t make it any easier. She felt uncomfortable, irritated, like she could barely breathe it was so stifling.

She hadn’t spoken to anyone since she’d awoken. Peter was napping, the heat too much to bear for the Irish boy, and Zach was as silent as ever. That was good, she knew she’d just snap at Peter if he began one of his long conversations and she didn’t want to do that, he was growing on her.

She could feel the shirt sticking to her skin, beads of sweat sliding down her back and neck. The feel of every one sent a new wave of irritation through her.

And she found herself staring at Colm, watching him sat amongst his men, chuckling at a story one of them was telling, sipping from his flask. She knew she was in a dangerous mood, a prickling sensation running up and down her spine, her mind telling her that lashing out would soothe some of her irritation.

She was going to kill him today. After she’d confirmed Thomas was dead. She didn’t know how exactly yet but she was going to.

She’d barely slept, which wasn’t helping matters. Her unfinished plan had gone round and round in her mind, trying to think of how she could grab a gun from a nearby man, or lunge at Colm and grab the knife on his belt, stab him before he could even react. Would they kill her? Most likely. It was a price she was convincing herself she was willing to pay, though. People would be safe with Colm dead, Arthur would be safe. If he already believed she was dead, or had even let the thought cross his mind, then, she was also trying to convince herself, it wouldn’t be too great a blow.

No matter what, today she was going to get the closure she’d been wanting for over ten years, and not just for Thomas’s death.

Colm chuckled again, raising his flask to his lips, and the casual normality of it just suddenly tipped her over the edge.

“Why didn’t you come to us?”

The man speaking broke off at the interruption and the group fell silent, their heads turning to where she sat with her back against a tree, smiles and laughter pausing. Their eyes then slid to their leader. Colm swallowed his mouthful, squinting slightly as he regarded her, propping an elbow on his knee.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“Me and my mother.” She held his gaze. “You must’ve known where we were. You knew Nicholas was my mother’s brother. You could have blackmailed him, got money, come for us.” She didn’t stop the faintly disgusted look that crossed her features. “Reunited us, as you seem so desperate to do now.”

“Hm.” He tilted his head. “You really think the worst of me, don’t you. I don’t blame you. When a man gets older, he realises he needs his family, though. Back then...” A smile pulled at his lips. “Nah, I wanted to leave ya be. I knew you’d be fine, you and your Ma. Least I could do.”

She hated him. She hated him, she hated him, she hated him. Hated that fond look on his face, how he sounded so _gracious_ , like he’d done them the ultimate of favours. She wanted to hurt him.

“The least you could have done was loan my father the money he needed to keep us going.”

Colm scratched his cheek, his brow dipping slightly, like he was trying to figure out what was happening. “He didn’t want to be indebted to me.”

“He _asked_ you so he must not have cared too much.”

“Yeah, but it killed him to do it.” He was smiling but there was a hardness to his eyes. “He wanted so much to make it all work out, the ‘good life’, and he didn’t.”

“He did. It was just one bad winter.”

“One bad winter gets families killed.”

“That’s why they turn to others and ask for help.” Her words were as sharp as knives but they did nothing to cut through the growing tension in the air.

Colm looked at her, his jaw moving slightly. Then, he laughed. “We just both like to argue, don’t we?”

It was a chance for her to stop, but Ada wasn’t going to back down, even though she could feel Zach’s eyes boring into her and her own voice was screaming at her in her head to stop.

_“You_ like to argue. You like to deflect and laugh and think you’re smarter than everyone else but you’re not. You’re a cheap thief and a poor leader who cares for nobody and nothing and when you die nobody will care or remember you and not one tear will be shed in sorrow.”

Silence. A couple of the men shifted uncomfortably, some eyes on the ground.

Colm’s were fixed on her, expressionless now.

“Is that so.” The icy tone should have been enough to stop her.

“Yes,” came her instant reply.

His leg was bouncing up and down now. “If any of my men had said that I’d have killed ‘em.”

“Because you know it’s true.”

Him standing and taking measured steps closer should have been enough to stop her. “Because it’s _insolence_.”

She didn’t realise she’d met his unspoken challenge by also standing herself until she was on her feet. 

“’Insolence’,” she scoffed, her eyes shifting to the men who were now all staring at her incredulously. “You’re all replaceable to him. If, no, _when_ you die for him, he’ll just recruit another in your place. You mean nothing to him. Why pledge your life to and fight for a man like that? He didn’t even help his own brother, didn’t even come to his funeral, didn’t even care about him—”

She broke off with a choke as Colm grabbed her by the throat, his face inches from hers. In her peripheral vision she saw Zach had stood but he did nothing. Her hand gripped at Colm’s arm as he pressed her back against the tree, his fingers tightening, staring at her.

“You got the big family fuckin’ mouth, girl,” he murmured lowly. “We just don’t know when to shut up, do we?”

Both hands on his arm now, she sank her nails into his skin, his shirt sleeves rolled up but he didn’t even wince. Gasping in small breaths, her lip curled as she managed to breathe out, “Why are you... keeping me here?”

“You want to see your brother, don’t you?”

She could just about breathe, and her heart was pounding as her natural instincts to fight surged through her, but she kept as still as possible, managing to speak once more. 

“This isn’t about... me, is it...” she gasped. “... You want... to get one over on Dutch... as usual. Well... I’m sorry to disappoint you... but he does not care about me.”

That made Colm smile, though his grip didn’t loosen. “No, he doesn’t. But Arthur Morgan cares about you, and Dutch cares about Arthur. Anythin’ that hurts Dutch in some way is a fuckin’ gift to me. If Arthur Morgan’s out there thinkin’ you’re dead? Fuckin’ wonderful.” He licked his lips as he tilted his head and paused for a few moments. “... He may have been your daddy but he was my brother. I knew and loved him a lot longer, so you watch your fuckin’ mouth, you don’t know shit.”

Tears were starting to sting at her eyes and it wasn’t just from his hold. “Why... didn’t you help him, then? Help _us?_ ”

He shrugged. “Like I said, he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he took dirty money. Just like his daughter, too much pride.”

He squeezed harder for a moment, before shoving her away, releasing her. She gasped in long, harsh breaths as her back collided with the tree, her hand darting up to massage her throat. Her eyes were still fixed on him, though, and she watched him walk away without another look at her, returning to his seat and sitting with a sigh.

“Carry on, Jim, before we were so fuckin’ rudely interrupted.” He didn’t even glance up at her, and the man, Jim, immediately continued his story.

Ada could already feel a headache forming from the lack of oxygen, and she coughed, her throat faintly sore.

“Hey, you okay?”

Peter was suddenly at her side, he must’ve awoken at some point, his voice quiet, concerned.

“I’m fine,” she rasped slightly, continuing to massage her neck.

“I’ll get ye some water.”

She met Zach’s gaze as Peter darted away. He sat back down as he held her eyes for a moment longer before looking at the ground. She’d seen a flicker of something in them but hadn’t known what it was from the man who barely showed any emotions. Part of her thought she should be embarrassed, maybe, cowed or wounded, but she actually felt... relieved. She could provoke him. She could wound him in some way. She didn’t fully believe what he’d said, but she believed that _he_ thought he loved his brother.

But had she got the closure she wanted?

... Not yet.

Like it had never happened, they continued on shortly after, and, sat back in her place in the wagon with Peter, he told her rather unhelpfully that small bruises had formed around her throat. Every swallow came with a slight ache but it was the least of her concerns. The men were becoming louder, more energised, excitement growing in the air; she knew they were drawing near to the regroup.

She knew they were drawing near when the wagon turned off of the main road, jostling her, Peter and the cargo.

She knew they were drawing near when she started to hear more voices.

She knew they were there when the men riding behind the wagon urged their horses into canters, moving ahead out of view as they called out.

She’d imagined her heart would be pounding, that she’d be sweating, wanting to be sick, but instead, she felt calm, almost unnervingly so. The truth was going to be revealed in a matter of minutes. The wagon came to a halt as a cheer went up. Voices talked over each other, growing into a loud hubbub as Peter jumped out of the wagon. As always, he held a hand out to help her out and she took it, dropping down onto the grass.

“Ada!”

Lifting her head, she found Colm beckoning her over, stood by his horse with Zach and two other men. Glancing at Peter, he smiled lightly, before she looked away and headed over to Colm. Her fingers flexed slightly as she moved closer, her eyes fixed on him. 

Just a matter of minutes.

“Come here, darlin’.” It was really like earlier hadn’t happened at all, with his smile and his arm going around her shoulders.

She allowed it without reaction, moving with him as he headed into the camp, Zach following at a short distance behind them. As he greeted men as they walked, she surveyed the area. It was in another clearing and sprawling, wagons dotted around, several groups of horses, different fire pits, men sat around, waving and calling out to each other. She had no idea there were so many of them, they were like a small army, and they called out their greetings to Colm like he was a king, swiftly filling him in on business they’d conducted, telling him they’d catch up with him later. He just nodded, smiled, and said a few words in reply, his arm remaining around her.

She looked at each man as they passed them, searching their features, but Thomas was dead so what was the point?

“Colm!” A man with thinning blonde hair approached, a hand on his belt.

“Dorian.” His arm left her as he reached a hand out, accepting Dorian’s hand and shaking it.

“Hey, how are ya?”

“Just fine, just fine,” Colm said as he released his hand. “The boys all come back with ya?”

“Yeah, George is helpin’ them with the Court wagon.”

“All right, come find me later, you hear?”

“Yes, sir.” Dorian then glanced at Ada, looking her up and down. “... This your niece?”

“Yes, she is.” The arm was back around her shoulders but she gave no reaction again, looking at Dorian who was smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ada.”

She hated the familiarity of it. Dorian didn’t seem offended as she said nothing, just looked at Colm and tipped his hat. “I’ll see you later.”

“All right.” Then, he was moving them onward, coughing. “C’mon, then.”

His arm dropped, hand patting her back, and she glanced at him, her jaw clenching. She hated his smile. Hated the delight in his eyes. Matter of minutes. She followed a step or so behind him, inhaling a breath. He was heading towards a crammed wagon, various men unloading crates, sacks and metal boxes from it.

“Thomas, m’boy,” Colm called to one of the men, his smile widening as he heard Ada stop behind him.

A tall man, slightly taller than Arthur, his black hair falling in waves to just above his shoulders, lifted his head as he placed a box on top of a crate.

Thomas O’Driscoll smiled widely at his uncle, inclining his head as he brushed his hands together. “Hey. You were right, Jackson was fine, said we could go back in a week...” He trailed off as his gaze shifted behind him.

“That’s good, that’s good...” Colm rubbed his jaw as his body half-turned, his other hand gesturing at the young woman. “Thom, this is your sister, Adaline.”

It was said without ceremony, without pomp or thrills, without any preparation. 

Thomas stared at her, eyes darting over her, still.

Colm continued, his arms folding as he watched him. “Me and the boys rescued her from some Murfree fuckers. She’s your sister.”

Frozen, the man’s brow dipped slightly. “... Ada?”

She didn’t realise she was shaking, thick tears filling her eyes. She knew him. She knew that face. Those green eyes. She would have recognised him anywhere.

Ada mouthed his name “... Thom.”

**_Oh my God..._ **

She lifted her arms, reaching out to him—

His were already around her, lifting her and holding her tightly. She cried out and wept into his shoulder and she could hear him saying her name over and over. She had no words. Nothing.

She faintly heard Colm chuckle and say, “I’ll leave you kids to it.”

Ada couldn’t stop crying, could barely breathe. Then, Thom was drawing his head back and she looked at him, looked at those warm green eyes, the faint freckles that dusted his skin here and there, the nose that was nearly identical to her own, their mother’s, the strong jaw line like their father’s. His own eyes were shining and his hand was smoothing her hair down, his thumb stroking her cheek as he gazed at her incredulously and still kept her lifted.

“Look at you, my sister, my little sister. Look at you...”

All she could do was cry, cupping his face, taking him all in. 

“I thought... you were dead...” she managed to say between sobs, her own words bringing a fresh wave of tears, barely able to see him through them.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, Ada, I’m so sorry...”

His hand slid to the back of her head and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck and she cried and cried and cried.

Her brother. Her brother Thomas, alive and safe.

He gently stroked her hair, hushing her softly while he began to move, walking them somewhere, she didn’t care where.

She wished Mama was alive.

She didn’t lift her head until her boots touched the ground, and then his hands were on her arms, gently guiding her to sit down on a log. She took one of his large hands in both of hers, as if if she stopped touching him for a moment then he would disappear.

Ada sniffed, biting at her lower lip as it trembled slightly. She swallowed hard, fighting off more tears. “I... imagined this moment so many times, but I never thought it would happen.”

“Me, too.” He smiled widely and placed his other hand over hers, and she just couldn’t believe how _big_ his hands were; they were the hands of a man.

Sniffing again, she closed her eyes for a few moments, tears escaping, and then inhaled a long, steadying breath before releasing it. Looking up at him, she shook her head slightly.

“... How is this possible... What happened, Thom?”

He released a breath of his own, licking his lips. It was a few moments before he spoke. “I just... I just had to. It killed me to leave you and Ma, it really did.” A corner of his mouth lifted, his thumb stroking her hand. “How is she?”

_Oh, no... Colm hasn’t told him..._

Her features crumbled again as she held his hand tightly. “She’s, uhm... She died, Thom.”

“Oh.” She could see the conflicting emotions in his eyes, the love he still held for his mother, but that she was also someone he hadn’t seen in over ten years, had probably distanced himself mentally from it all, from them, to make his life easier. The look then vanished swiftly and he cleared his throat. “How?”

“I...” Oh fuck, she couldn’t tell him it was because of his own men, could she? “... I can’t... can’t talk about that now.”

“Okay, it’s all right, I understand.” He smiled gently, patting her hand. “Another time.”

She nodded, exhaling a breath, almost crying again at that because they had _time_ now. “Go on, please, tell me everything.”

His eyebrows rose slightly, licking his lips again. “I travelled for weeks...” He laughed humourlessly. “I was just a kid, wandering around, without a clue, no where to start. I just went to towns and asked people outright, like they’d just say ‘oh, head east’...” She laughed softly with him, her heart simultaneously breaking at how determined she could imagine he’d been. “I nearly came home a couple of times, but...” His smile faded. “I thought I couldn’t live with myself if I did. Thought you’d think I’d failed.”

“Never, Thom, never.” Her heart broke again as she gripped his hands tighter.

He shook his head a little, smiling faintly. “I know, I know...” His eyebrows rising again, the smile widened. “But then I did come across some of his boys, in a bar. I made them laugh for a while and then they got pissed off at my pesterin’ and then when I kept insisting they just took me with them. Thought it’d be hilarious to see a kid up against Colm O’Driscoll. I was so damn nervous.” She didn’t laugh with him this time. “But I met him, confronted him and then he... He told me the truth, about everything. Do you...?”

She nodded and swallowed as he trailed off. “Yeah, I know.”

Thom shook his head, his jaw moving. “I still think about that day.”

“Me, too.” She took a breath, asking as gently as she could the question that was killing her. “... Why didn’t you come back to us after finding out?”

Thom gave a small shrug after a moment. “... I thought you and Ma wouldn’t believe me.”

It broke her heart because they probably wouldn’t have. If she hadn’t have heard it from Dutch himself...

She didn’t think she had any more tears left in her, so she quickly managed a smile as she sniffed, squeezing his hands. “You must’ve seen some places, then, huh?”

The wide smile returned and she loved it. “Oh, yeah. Mainly fields and woods and small towns, but I’ve been to Chicago a few times.”

“Really?” He laughed as her smile widened. “Mama always wanted to take us.”

“Yeah, I loved it. I’ll take you one day.” 

One day, oh, they had _days_ now. 

“What about you?”

“Well...” She licked her lips as she inhaled. “... We were at the farm for a while and then we moved to Strawberry to be with Uncle Nicholas.”

“How was that?”

“Interesting.” A corner of her mouth lifted a little higher. “And lonely.”

His throat bobbed. “I’m sorry—”

She was already shaking her head. “Don’t be. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I... There’s no point in what ifs.” Glancing over his shoulder, she exhaled. “You move around a lot, then?”

“Yeah, but we do have a main camp in the west, just by Little Creek River.”

She caught his slightly sheepish expression... then it dawned on her, her lips parting.

“Hang on, that’s in West Elizabeth, that’s north of Strawberry.”

Thom was nodding, the sheepish expression lingering. “Yeah, I, uh...” He cleared his throat. “... When I found out you were both in Strawberry, like I said, I... Well, didn’t think you’d take me back.”

Her lower lip trembled as, oh, yes, she did still had some tears left. “Oh, you idiot, of _course_ we would have...” Releasing his hands, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, her chin on his shoulder.

His arms went around her, holding her tightly. She could feel his muscles under his shirt, could feel his _strength_ ; he was no longer the, quite frankly, scrawny boy who looked like a fair breeze would have blown him over.

“You’re so big,” she laughed thickly, sniffing as she pulled back to look at him once more. “When did that happen?”

He laughed, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Ooh, overnight, just after my seventeenth birthday.”

"Wow, what a treat,” she chuckled, and, oh, they could _laugh_ together, he still had that sense of humour she’d loved.

"But what about you, huh? You were the size of the town cat when I left.”

She laughed, grinning as she wiped her cheeks. “Oh, for me it was _earlier,_ after my sixteenth birthday.” 

“Well, you were always better than me at everything. And look at all this!” He reached out and tugged on a curl. “You still cry when you brush it?”

She pulled a face that made him laugh. “Oh, I don’t brush it anymore, can’t you tell?”

“Well, I was trying to be polite...”

Ada laughed again as her instincts took over and she punched his arm, the action so nostalgic, so long-forgotten that if she wasn’t laughing she would have wept.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they looked at each other, both still unable to quite really believe it. The noise of the camp filtered back into her hearing and her gaze drifted over his shoulder again. Licking her lips, she smiled lightly.

“So, what’s going to happen now?”

Thom returned her smile, raising his eyebrows a little. “Well, what do you want to happen?”

She shook her head slightly, inhaling a long breath, her smile lingering. “I want to leave. I want to take you and Arth—” Ada caught herself quickly, her cheeks flushing as Thom’s eyebrows rose a little higher.

“Ah, yeah, I heard about that...” His smile was still there, though, so she relaxed, even if her blush did remain.

“Yes, it, uhm... It wasn’t exactly part of my plan, but...”

“You love him?” he asked gently after a moment.

She couldn’t believe she was talking about the man she loved with her brother. Her heart could’ve burst. “I do. I really do.”

He looked at her and her soft expression, before his head lifted and he looked away, out towards the trees, and exhaled a quiet laugh.

Her brow dipped a little as she watched him. “What?”

Thom shrugged slightly, a corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other. “It’s just strange. I’ve heard so much about him, and the gang, but I’ve never encountered them. Colm’s always kept me out of things like that, in case they got me and found out who I was. I've come to hate them, they're the enemy, but now...” He looked at her, shrugging again. “They’re just strangers, aren’t they. Can’t even really put a face to the man my sister loves. You’re a stranger, too, I guess.”

Something twinged in her chest as she looked at him, exhaling a slight laugh. “Don’t say that.”

He shook his head quickly, taking one of her hands. “No, no, I don’t mean it in a... We just lost so much time.”

Her features softened as she squeezed his hand, swallowing the lump that had returned to her throat. “Well, we can make up for it now.”

“Yes, we can.” His smile reached his eyes, deepening the small lines there, and it felt good to know he’d smiled and laughed enough for them to form.

She couldn’t stop herself from asking, though. “You knew I was with the gang, then?”

“Yeah, Colm told me. I didn’t fully believe it at first, just couldn’t believe it but... here you are.” The smile lingered.

Her own widened. “Here I am.”

Shaking his head, he released her hand and lifted his own. “Go on, then, tell me about you.”

"What about me?”

“Everything, what you like to do, what you’ve done, what you read, you can still read, right? Do you still talk to frogs and toads...?”

Her laughter carried across the camp.

* * *

They talked for hours, reminiscing on the memories they had and comparing the paths their lives had taken. She told him all about her recent adventures, how’d she got the scar on her face, thankfully he didn’t ask about the bruises on her neck, and the roles she played in the gang. He listened quietly and didn’t ask questions, and she left out some parts, like Dutch’s plans, her feelings about him, and just how... _developed_ her relationship with Arthur was. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Thom, she just didn’t want anyone else overhearing the specifics of what the gang had been up to.

The sun had nearly set by the time they’d filled each other in on everything. 

He let out a whistle as his eyebrows raised once she’d finished, sipping water from the cup someone had brought over to them. “You a gunslinger now, then, huh?”

She snorted. “Hardly. I just... had to get by.”

“Mmh. I understand that.”

A cheer caught their attention and they looked over towards the main area of the camp; another group of men had joined, seemingly the last by the jeers and laughter.

The event brought them both back to reality. Looking up at the sky, she couldn’t believe how dark it was getting and how much her stomach was rumbling. Thom seemed to be having the same train of thought as he stood and held a hand out to her.

“Come on, let’s get some food, I’m starvin’.”

His arm went around her shoulders once he’d helped her up and she much preferred it to Colm’s. He introduced her to every group of men that passed, proudly stating, ‘ _this is my sister, Ada_ ’. She shook all their hands with a polite smile, even laughed easily a few times, because she was just so _happy_. She shoved to the back of her mind thoughts that told her they were only being courteous because she was someone important... and that they’d killed Kieran and countless others.

She thought for the shortest of moments about whether Thom had killed anyone, then it was gone, incomprehensible.

They ate together, and when a man came over to greet him, her gaze drifted, trying to find Peter or Zach. The former was nowhere to be seen and the latter, it seemed, had finally taken his eyes off of her for she couldn’t see him either. They were probably off somewhere, reconnecting, sleeping, or—

She stilled, staring at a man sat on the outer edge of a group. He was laughing hard, slapping his hand against his knee at whatever another man was saying. He was so familiar... where the hell had she seen him...

_... Oh, God..._

A coldness washed over her as she froze, a rush of breath escaping her. Thom glanced at her, rubbing his jaw as the man beside him continued talking. Frowning, he lifted his hand and the man paused.

“Ada? You all right?”

She swallowed hard, speaking before she could stop herself. “He was there.”

Thom was leaning closer, setting his bowl on the floor and taking her hand. “What?”

Everything sounded so quiet all of a sudden.

She licked her lips, unable to look away as the man laughed again. “That man over there, he... he was at Strawberry when they attacked and he, he was with a group of men who killed Mama.”

"What, that’s how she died?”

Ada finally looked away, meeting her brother’s gaze.

_Oh, shit._

Thom was still, holding her gaze. He remembered a group of them had gone at Colm’s request to Strawberry, to get Andrew and Colin out of jail. He’d thought of convincing his uncle to let him go, wondering if Ada and Ma still lived there but... he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it.

Now, it was the second biggest thing he regretted in his life.

“Which man.”

She swallowed again. “Uh...” Thom was giving no reaction, and she knew she couldn’t just suddenly dismiss this. Looking back over at the group, she pointed briefly. “That man there. The one in the green shirt.”

Turning his head, Thom followed the direction of her finger. “... With the black hair and beard?”

“Uh...”

He’d suddenly turned back to her. “Are you sure it’s him?”

This was her chance to back out, to stop whatever had come over Thom. “I-I don’t know—”

His hands were on her shoulders, gripping them as he held her gaze. “Is it, Ada?”

“Yes.” The short word exited her so swiftly it was like it had been punched out of her.

His jaw moved.

Then he was on his feet, moving towards the group. She didn’t even have time to say anything to him, a slight sound leaving the back of her throat as her body turned to watch him.

Thom's broad shoulders were squared, his hand rubbing his jaw.

“Hey, Toby.”

The man looked up, a grin still on his lips. “Hey, Thom, good to see ya!” He stood, offering his hand to him.

Thom didn’t accept it as he came to a stop, and Toby lowered his hand after a moment, his smile faltering slightly. Ada fully appreciated how tall Thom was now, practically standing over Toby. The other man seemed to realise this, too, drawing himself up to his full height as he let out a slight laugh.

“You all right, brother?”

Ada’s heart was pounding as she watched them. Thom was silent and Toby’s grin was fading with each passing second.

Then, Thom exhaled a harsh breath. “String him up.”

Men moved instantly, lurching out of their seats, others nearby standing and craning their necks to look at what was happening.

Toby let out a short, nervous laugh, his eyes darting from the moving men to Thom. “What? Wait, I— Why? What the fuck have I done?!”

Some men had gotten rope from somewhere, and one grabbed Toby by his shoulder, holding him still as another wrapped the rope round and round his wrists. Toby tried to yank his arms back but the man held him still.

“C-Come on, guys, what the fuck’s going on?!”

“Awh, shit, what’s goin’ on here?” She heard Colm call out from somewhere behind her, nearing, a smile in his tone, and in her peripheral vision she saw him drinking from his flask.

She couldn’t look at him, though, couldn’t look away from the terrified Toby and her silent brother, the small group now moving as the men began to pull Toby across the camp.

“What’s going on?! What’s happening?!”

No one was answering Toby, not even questioning Thom themselves. Rounding the fire pit she was at, her body turned automatically with them, unable to move beyond that. As they reached the trees, one of the men pulling Toby along threw the other end of the rope over a thick branch and pulled sharply, making Toby rise a foot or so off the ground. He yelled out, his eyes wide, trying to kick his legs out, flailing in the air.

“Thom?! What did I do?!”

Thom ignored him and turned as some of the men laughed, his tongue running along his lower lip as he moved towards her. The fire made light dance across her, hiding that she was trembling.

“Thom—”

He lowered down to one knee, one hand resting on hers as his other unsheathed a knife from his belt, flipped it in his hand and held the handle out to her. She stared at it, her gaze then darting back up to him.

“... I can’t.”

His features were unreadable. “Come on, Ada.”

She shook her head a few times, trying hard to take a full breath. “I can’t, Thom.”

A corner of his mouth lifted and his features softened, a terrible juxtaposition to Toby’s yelling behind him. 

“It’s okay, I’ll do it.” Cupping the back of her neck, he tilted her head down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Then, he’d risen and turned away, striding back towards Toby.

She heard Colm bark out a laugh as men jeered. “Oh, you really fucked up this time, Toby! Look at that fuckin’ face! Like thunder!”

Toby was nearly sobbing, desperation saturating his tone. “ _What did I do?! What did I do?!_ ”

Ada’s gaze hadn’t moved from where she’d stared at Thom’s chest, now just fixed on the ground.

“No, no, Thom, please, come on, please—!”

She flinched at the sound of material ripping, Toby’s howl echoing in the night.

Then came Thom’s voice; cold as ice. “You killed my mother, Toby.”

Curses and insults went up from the group but Colm’s voice came the loudest, jeering, taunting.

“Oh, _shit_ , you killed my sister-in-law, Toby?”

“ _When?! I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know!_ ” Toby’s words were jumbled in screams, and Ada could feel tears pricking at her eyes. Within moments they were sliding down her cheeks.

She could hear the men laughing, making casual observations, drinking, some not even paying much attention.

This was a game to them.

A sport.

A regular occurrence.

She couldn’t stop her eyes from lifting to Thom.

He was stood before Toby, the man’s shirt open, a wound on his chest, blood running out of it. Toby was pale, terrified. Thom was calm.

This was nothing to her brother.

She suddenly got to her feet, her gaze dropping. As Toby screamed again and she heard a sound she didn’t want to identify, she turned on her heel and began to stride away, her fists curled tightly at her sides, chest rising and falling swiftly, staring at the ground, body rigid.

Tears fell like a stream down her cheeks as she walked away, Toby’s screams echoing in her ears.

She could hear her own breathing, jagged, gasping.

A few whoops went up as Toby cried out again, the sound so agonised, so drawn out that she released a sob and put her hands over her ears.

She walked into the trees, still able to hear the screams. Her legs suddenly gave out as a higher, panicked scream came. Her arm darting out, she grabbed at a tree trunk, sinking to her knees. Curling up against it, her hands went back over her ears as her eyes closed tightly, her breaths short, sobbed.

She murmured to herself, not even sure what she was saying, just trying to drown it all out.

Yet it was useless.

All she could hear was his screams.


	19. But That Does Not Make Us Wise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

She was surrounded by trees, sat back against a large trunk of one, on dry grass and leaves, legs stretched out, staring off into the woods. Toby had quietened some time ago, but she could still hear his cries ringing in her ears.

Her eyes were sore from crying, her cheeks still damp.

And guilt gnawed at her heart.

She should have wanted revenge.

She should have wanted to hurt him for killing Mama, Annie and Adam.

She should have accepted the knife.

No, she shouldn’t have.

It had been wrong, all wrong. They should have... she didn’t know what, but it shouldn’t have been _that_.

How had he been capable of it?

She’d heard sounds and screams that could only have been brought about by awful, _awful_ things... and she knew he’d been the only one to do it.

The men had been cheering him on.

Part of her just wanted to forget it. To push it away and just forget all about it because he _had_ killed her mother and Thom was _alive_ and _safe_.

But she couldn’t, because, while he _was_ alive and safe, he wasn’t the brother she remembered.

Or, a tiny, traitorous, terrified voice whispered, wanted.

* * *

Thom ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly as he spat. Wiping some blood from his face with his sleeve, he turned away from the lifeless body as someone handed him a cloth. Wiping the knife clean on it, he searched for his sister. 

He hoped she could have peace now, that she would now know her brother was here to protect her once more, like he should have been doing.

No... Like she’d said, no use wasting time on ‘what ifs’.

When had the little bundle of curls gotten so wise?

A smile pulling at his lips, he dropped the cloth to the ground and sheathed the knife. She was nowhere to be seen, then again he’d gotten a little more into his work than he’d intended so he wasn’t surprised. He just hadn’t been able to stop himself. All he’d seen in his mind was Ada’s pale features, only been able to think about the fact she’d been there when their mother had died. She’d had to deal with too much too soon. Not anymore, not without him.

His gaze fell on Peter, the lad he’d heard from Ada had been keeping her company, and he headed towards him, the young man stood still, looking off towards the trees. Following his gaze, he then saw her, part of her anyway, half of her body obscured by a tree.

Greeting Peter with a nod as the man looked up, he pushed his hands into his pockets.

“How is she?”

Peter drew in a breath, his arms folded across his chest as he kept his gaze on the red-headed woman.

He had watched her from the moment it all began, wanting to go to her but knowing it wasn’t his place. He’d known Zach was watching her, too, and then watched him follow her from a distance as she’d hurried away. She hadn’t gone far, just to the beginning of the woods at the outer edge of the camp.

Zach stood close by still, boot propped up against a tree stump, a cigarette between his lips as he surveyed the trees.

“Well...” Truthfully, Peter didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t really known Toby, but the cries and screams had been enough to make his stomach turn, so, to his shame, he’d looked away, not caring if he was mocked for it. Thankfully no one had, no one had even noticed, too busy watching Thom do what he did best. Actually, he did know what to say, could imagine what Ada was feeling. “... I think she’s in shock. Seeing Toby and all that must’ve brought up a lot of feelings.”

“Yeah, well, she did see that bastard kill our mother.”

Peter just hummed, suspecting there was more to it but knowing he could easily follow after Toby if he spoke anymore.

Luckily, Thom was heading away, moving towards his sister, and Peter couldn’t help but marvel at how calm he was.

Yes, he could imagine just how shocked Ada was.

Thom nodded at Zach as he passed him, the ever silent man just returning it. His eyes returned to Ada, looking at her sat up against the tree, hands in her lap. 

“Hey, little one.”

She wanted to be sick. That nickname. That sweet little nickname he’d used when they were children... but they certainly weren’t children anymore.

“Hey.” Her voice was so quiet, small.

Crouching down in front of her, giving her no choice but to look at him, Thom released a breath. “How are you?”

Her gaze held his, searching. There was blood on his sleeves, she could see in her peripheral vision. She wanted to find remorse in his eyes, or embarrassment, or shame, something human. There was concern, but only for her.

Swallowing, she licked her lips. “I, uhm...”

She had absolutely no idea what to say.

Thom smiled softly as he nodded. “It’s all right, I understand. Seeing him must have been hard.”

She shook her head slightly, swallowing again. “No, well, yes, but... I just...” She had to say it, to speak the words out loud that had been swirling around and around in her head. The faintest of smiles pulled at the corners of her mouth as she spoke quietly. “... I remember you as a boy, Thom. All these years you’ve been just a boy in my mind, and then seeing that... How are you capable of that?”

His brow dipped slightly as he gazed at her. Then his expression softened. “You said you had to do what you had to to get by, Ada. So did I.”

Her heart broke. Of course he’d had to. But when did doing what you had to become who you were?

She didn’t want to argue with him. Despite it, she didn’t want to lose him, not when she’d just got him back, but who was this man? Who was this murderer, this _torturer?_ She was to learn him anew but she just... she couldn’t let that sweet little boy go.

She was so tired, and he must have seen it and taken her silence for it because he straightened and held a hand out to her.

“C’mon, you need to get some sleep, Addy.”

That fucking nickname. Colm’s nickname. It sounded so foreign from Thom. But, she accepted his hand and let him pull her up, his arm going around her instantly. He guided her back towards the camp, and her eyes lifted, finding Zach stood close by. Of course. There was that look in his gaze again that she hadn’t been able to place and she looked away a moment later, not really wanting to identify it.

A group of men were singing a bawdy Irish tune she half recognised, yelling out the chorus, clapping their hands together. They weren’t being quiet but she wasn’t surprised; they really were like a small army all together.

Yet it turned her stomach, the swift return to normality. Yes, Toby had done something awful to her, but she and Thom should have been revelling, not these men. He was their comrade, one of the men he’d been sitting with minutes before his death was even sat with the singing men, shouting along. Thom had had to grow up in this, so why had she been shocked by what he’d become? 

He was sixteen when he joined them, almost a man, and she couldn’t imagine what he must have seen and experienced, how being raised by _Colm O’Driscoll_ must have shaped him into what he was. Colm must have loved it, moulding him in his image; she could just picture him encouraging him to do awful things, to ‘be a man’, twisting the sweet boy who’d help anybody in need into someone who robbed, murdered, destroyed.

Yet she knew that sweetness was still in him, hell, she’d only hours earlier _seen_ it, he’d been so gentle with her, his former self, the Thom she knew and loved but, then again... she was family. Someone he loved. That love and consideration no longer extended to anyone else. It was still there, though, and, by _God_ , she clung onto that as he led her across the camp.

“Here, you can have my tent.”

If he’d said it earlier she would have just pictured the tent she’d been sleeping in for the past two weeks, but this... You could have fit four beds in this space. It was a huge tent, high and spacious. She didn’t even have to duck to step in. She paused as she entered, staring at the first thing her gaze landed on, the raised bed. Her blue shirt and trousers were on it, folded neatly. Peter must have put them there. How far her world had come since she’d changed.

“You need an extra blanket?”

Ada turned to him as he entered, rubbing his hands together. He was smiling, and it was so soft.

She shook her head, not really considering the question. “No, thank you.”

“All right. Let me know if you do need anythin’, I’ll be sleeping just outside. Maybe not for a little while, though.”

Probably was going to drink with his men. Celebrate.

“Okay.”

His smile widened and his eyebrows rose a little. “Well. What a day.”

She found the corners of her mouth lifting as tears began to sting at her eyes. “Yeah. What a day.”

Thom nodded a few times, clearing his throat. “Well. Goodnight, little one, sweet dreams. Don’t run too far away with the fairies.”

Her features crumbled. He used to say that nearly every night to her. Inhaling a breath, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, her cheek pressing against his chest. His arms instantly went around her, holding her tightly, and she closed her eyes, pushing tears down her cheeks, as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She embraced him so tightly, wanting him to feel loved, _really_ loved, as if this small act would change him back.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured, and _yes_ , yes she would.

Sniffing, she nodded and drew back, giving him a smile. “Yeah. Goodnight, Thom.”

“Goodnight, Addy.”

With a pat of her arm and a warm smile, he was then gone, the flap of the tent falling closed behind him.

Ada stood there, still, her gaze fixed on where he’d been, tears still falling.

What a day.

Wiping her cheeks, she blew out a breath and sniffed. Her hands going to her waist, she let her eyes wander the tent. It really was spacious, bigger than she’d ever seen Dutch’s, and she wondered who carried this all around. He couldn’t possibly carry it all with him everywhere he went, was this only for when they were all together? When the hierarchy was in full force and show? There was the bed, big enough to fit another person on, and a table and chair a foot away from it, maps and a lit lantern on it, a few knives—

She paused. Knives.

Crossing the space, she grabbed the nearest one, unsheathing it. It was simple, with leather wrapped around the handle. It was smaller than the other six, some of them rather ornate and splendid. She stared at the one in her hand, watching it glint in the light of the lantern. She didn’t exactly know what she’d need it for but it felt good to have it, comforting. Sheathing it, she slid it into her boot, relieved that it wouldn’t be able to be seen.

If he noticed it was missing, she’d just tell him the truth, that it _was_ comforting. He’d probably be pleased with that.

There was a chest by the table and she opened it, finding shirts, trousers, a few, heavy bags of money and jewels, but not much else. She closed the chest quietly and straightened, looking around again, like she’d suddenly find something else.

There were no personal possessions. No photographs. No trinkets. Aside from the knives... he seemingly had nothing else. She understood that a life evading the law didn’t exactly mean you could cart many things around but the gang had made it work, Mary-Beth had her books, Jack had his toys, Karen had her various jackets, and Arthur—

The twisting of her heart at the thought of him made her want to cry all over again. 

How could she leave and go to him now when she’d just found her brother? Would either man understand that in order for her to breathe they needed to like each other? To get along?

She didn’t want to consider what either of them would think. They both loved her, but... At the end of the day, when all was said and done, where did their loyalty lie?

* * *

There was the sound of an axe chopping through wood. Cutlery scraping against metal. Groans, snores, coughs and laughter. Horses snorting. Whistling.

Ada stared at the ceiling of the tent.

Every half an hour or so a new sound had added to the slowly growing din. She’d awoken for the final time two hours before, when it was still dark. She’d known it was useless to try and attempt sleep again.

The moment she’d laid her head on Thom’s pillow she knew it was going to be a restless night. She was too aware of every sound, of every laugh and song that was sung. She wondered what he was doing; was he singing with them? Drinking until he was drunk? Celebrating his revenge?

They’d gone on for hours, the number of voices dwindling but slowly. She thought she heard her brother settle outside the tent at some point but she wasn’t sure and she didn’t want to check. She just lay where she was, curled up on her side, blanket pulled up around her. Her brother’s scent surrounded her, a combination of wood and smoke. It should have been comforting, but instead all she’d been able to do was think about the stranger he was, a few, silent tears escaping every now and then.

She knew she’d slept at some points, though they felt like only the briefest of moments. Not enough.

Inhaling a breath, she shifted her gaze from the ceiling to the flap of the tent. It moved slightly in the morning breeze but not enough for her to see what was going on outside.

_Get up and go out. Find Peter._

Funny, her source of annoyance now her solace. Pushing herself up, she rolled her shoulders as she closed her eyes, taking a moment. She could feel the weariness deep in her bones; this lack of sleep was going to kill her, if heart-ache didn’t.

Licking her lips, she opened her eyes and stood, tucking her shirt into her trousers. Brushing the flap aside, she peered out. The ground outside was empty, Thom nowhere to be seen. Stepping out, the crisp morning air washed over her, easing away some of her fatigue.

_Maybe I’ll just dunk my head in a bucket of water, that’ll do it._

She looked for Peter but there were so many tents she didn’t have a good view of anything, so she began to wander between them, narrowly avoiding here and there a few men who were asleep on the ground. She sensed someone following her but she didn’t need to check to know it was Zach. Did he ever sleep? Maybe she’d have to ask him how he survived, get a few tips.

Men glanced up or stared at her as she passed, but none greeted her and that suited her just fine. Finding herself back at what seemed like the main area of the camp, near where Toby had met his end, his body now nowhere to be seen, she paused, her gaze drifting across the landscape. She found no sign of Peter. Well, maybe he just wasn’t awake yet.

Zach joined her at her side, lighting himself a cigarette. They stood in silence. It was oddly comforting. The only constant of the last two weeks, his silent presence. Exhaling a long, slow breath, Ada continued her search, then her gaze stopped.

Thom was sat on a chair beside Colm, elbows on his knees, bowl of what looked like porridge in his hands, talking as he ate. Colm was smoking, nodding every now and then and responding. Her heart twisted slightly. They looked so comfortable. It looked normal.

Men passed every few moments, bidding good morning, saying a few words, some just nodding. Her brother and uncle received each one like kings, nodding in return and accepting their greetings. When they resumed their conversation once more, Thom said something that made them both laugh, her brother glancing up at Colm with a grin as the older man tilted his head back, chuckling.

Her heart twisted again.

She’d wanted him to feel loved last night, but he was. He was adored, feared, respected.

Happy.

“Zach.”

The large man paused, and if he was stunned that she’d actually addressed him he, unsurprisingly, didn’t show it. Swallowing, she forced away any hint of tears as she looked up at him.

“I have to get out of here.”

He looked at her, expressionless, his dark brown eyes unreadable. Then he looked away, inhaling on his cigarette.

“You can’t.”

“I will.”

He glanced at her only briefly. It felt dismissive, and she felt foolish for ever having even entertained the idea that he would aid her. He’d been kind, yes... but had he? He’d been watching her constantly, had carried her back to Colm, had barely said a word... He was just like the rest of them.

She suddenly felt angry. Trapped.

Her gaze returned to Thom. Then, she was striding forward.

_Just tell him. He loves you, he’s your brother. He’ll understand. He’ll let you leave._

They were laughing together again and it just fuelled her fury.

“Thom.”

Thom was still chuckling as he looked up, his smile widening at the sight of her.

“Hey, Addy.”

_Stop it._

Colm tilted his head, resting his hands on his knees. “Well, good morning, Adaline.”

Irritation prickled along her skin.

“Hi.” She fixed her gaze on Thom. “Can I speak with you, please?”

Colm snorted as Thom opened his mouth, his uncle speaking before he could. “’Can I speak with you’, so formal. What’ve you got to say, girl?”

She had to stop her teeth from gritting as she glanced at him. “I want to speak with my brother, alone.”

Her uncle’s eyebrows rose as he sat back, lifting his hands for her to proceed. “Anything you can say to your brother, you can say to me.”

Opening her mouth to snap back, Thom then spoke, scraping the last of his porridge up with his spoon. “What is it?”

Her mouth closed, her teeth now gritting. Taking a moment, she licked her lips and then turned her attention to Colm. “That’s not the point, I want to speak with him alone.”

“Addy...”

Her gaze darted to Thom at his faint sigh, and she didn’t bother to stop her frustrated expression. Sighing again, Thom raised his eyebrows and nodded, rising to his feet.

“All right, all right...”

She tried not to let the patronising edge to it get to her. Watching him place his bowl on his chair, he then turned back to her and—

“Colm!”

Their heads turned swiftly at the shout, watching the source of it, a blonde man, approach, racing towards them.

“What?” came Colm’s irritated reply.

The man was breathing hard as he came to an abrupt halt before them, pointing back behind him. “... Pinkertons!”

Ada stared at him as Thom hissed out a curse, hope, bizarrely, rising within her.

“How many?” Thom demanded, and the man shook his head, still trying to catch his breath, “Fifty of ‘em, I’d say...”

“ _Shit_ , Jesus...”

She heard Thom kick at his chair in frustration, the bowl tumbling to the ground, a harsh sigh leaving him, but she just stared at the man, a plan already forming in her mind. She could get away, maybe even with Thom, maybe even—

“Someone must’ve tipped ‘em off with all of us together,” a new voice said, men starting to near as word spread, others grabbing their weapons.

“Or all that fuckin’ noise we were making, I knew this was too close to the road,” Thom hissed. “Colm, what’s our move?”

Silence.

“ _Colm_.”

When he didn’t reply, Ada lifted her gaze to her uncle and—

He was looking at her, a corner of his mouth lifted.

Thom was stood by her side, hands on his hips. “ _Colm_ , what do we do?”

Ada held his gaze, hoping she didn’t look as relieved as she felt, and then he inhaled a breath and raised his eyebrows as he stood.

“Get ready for a fight, boys. Probably your last.” As men instantly began running, he settled his hands on his belt and returned his gaze to her. “Go on, sweetheart.”

Her lips parted as her brow dipped. “What?”

“Get out of here.” His smile widened a little more. “Arthur’s Da was English, weren’t he? Can’t be helped, I s’pose.” He nodded behind her. “Go on, now, before they get here.” He then gestured at Thom. “Both of you, go.”

She stood frozen to the spot in disbelief as Thom scoffed and frowned. “What? Colm—”

“You heard me.” Colm’s tone was sharper. “Both of you, get outta here. You keep each other safe, you hear?”

Thom stepped forward. “Colm, I ain’t leaving you—”

“Yes, you are, boy.” Colm placed a hand on his nephew’s shoulder and shoved him back. Looking between them, both of them stunned, his tongue ran along his teeth. “You’ve all each other got left. Get out of here.”

This was her chance.

Her hand reached out to her brother, gripping his arm. “Come on, Thom...” She started to walk backwards, pulling at his arm as he stood there, staring at his uncle. “... _Thom_ , come on!”

It took Colm turning and striding away without another word to them for Thom to start moving, his jaw set.

“Any of you make it, you head up to Little Creek!” Colm shouted as Thom placed a hand on her back and they strode in the opposite direction to their uncle.

“Go to the horses, there, and get yourself one, all right, mine’s the bay with the white face.” Thom was back in charge now, pushing her into a jog. “I’ll be two minutes, you hurry to the trees over there, all right?”

“Where are you going?” she called, even as she headed towards the small group of horses.

“Just gettin’ some things, go!”

Then he was gone, sprinting away towards the tents. Swallowing, she ran for the horses, talking softly to them as men shouted and cursed. Shots started to be fired as she grabbed at the reins of Thom’s horse and one closest to it, a dapple grey. They were unfazed at the sounds, used to it, and it was a small mercy as she led them away, passing men who were running towards the sound of the battle.

She made it to the trees he’d gestured towards, pulling the horses to a halt as she looked back towards the camp. It was loud and rapid now, the gunfire, and she bit at her lower lip as her eyes darted about, trying to find Thom amongst the moving men.

_Come on, come on, come on..._

There was a strange, joyful energy within her. She could get them away, they could leave, and this opportunity had just been _handed_ to her, like a gift from God. She could take him away, convince him now that it would just be the two of them that they could get Arthur and _leave_ , go somewhere away from all of this, create a new life...

Her hope rose as she saw him, not running but just striding towards her, something in each hand. It wasn’t until he neared that she realised he was holding the bags of money in one hand, his knives in the other.

Moving to his horse’s saddlebag, he slid them in, glancing over his shoulder every few moments.

“This is really fuckin’ bad, there’s so many of them...”

Mounting the dapple, she gathered the reins as she pressed her lips together. “We have to go, Thom, come on.”

His jaw was moving as he stared at the camp, securing the bag closed without looking.

“ _Thom_.”

He looked to her and she saw it; the hesitation. It made her heart ache, but she couldn’t dwell on it. So she played her hand.

“ _Please,_ ” she murmured softly, her expression imploring.

He held her gaze. Then, he was mounting his horse, releasing a breath. She turned her horse around, keeping her eyes on her brother, expecting him at any moment to just bolt towards the fight, because she could see it was killing him to abandon them.

Urging the horse on, she was relieved when he followed, his shoulders squared, not looking back. They headed down a hill, and she kept her eyes on the trees, hoping the Pinkertons wouldn’t have been smart and rounded the back of the camp. There was a cacophony of sounds now, a mix of yelling, gunfire and cries, but she ignored it all. She couldn’t think about Peter or Zach or her uncle and what their fates would be, she just focused on that she would soon be _free_ , her brother with her.

She prompted the horse into a canter as the land levelled out and turned her head to her brother as he did the same. “Come on, I know a place.”

She caught his frown just before she returned her attention to the trees.

“What?”

“Trust me.”

Ada left no room for a discussion as she turned onto a path and spurred the horse into a gallop. She heard Thom behind her, knowing he was following.

Good. At least he did trust her.

* * *

Willard’s Rest was quiet, appearing as empty as when she and Arthur had been there.

Arthur. How long ago that happiness felt. Her chest ached. She’d tried not to think about him on the journey over, it just hurt too fucking much. Thankfully it had been a shorter journey than she’d expected, the O’Driscoll’s having gathered to the west of Willard’s Rest. As they’d crossed over the river towards it is when her heart started to hurt.

What joy she and Arthur had shared here, and such a short time later she had no idea where or how he was.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Thom had stopped.

“ _Ada_.”

Or that he’d been speaking to her.

Turning her head, her eyebrows raised as she looked to him. “Sorry, what?”

He pointed up ahead towards the cabin. “There’s smoke.”

“What?”

Her head whipped round to look towards it and sure enough there it was, curling up above the trees towards the sky. Pulling her horse to a halt, she exhaled a breath, pressing her lips together.

“Shit...” she murmured, the horse shifting it’s weight underneath her. 

“What now?”

Looking back at him, she found him leaning forward, his arms resting on the pommel expectantly. Almost like he was waiting for her to say she didn’t know so he could take over.

_Well, not today._

“We’ll see who’s there, maybe we could run them off, this is a good place.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly as he sat up, gesturing for her to proceed. “All right.”

Trying not to grit her teeth, she moved the horse on, taking the thin path that wound up towards the cabin. The place was quiet, a light breeze making branches sway and leaves shake. She halted when she caught sight of the building, hearing Thom do the same, and she dismounted.

“We’ll carry on on foot so we don’t get spotted,” she murmured, glancing at him as she started to search in the saddlebags for a weapon.

He dismounted silently, and she was very much getting the sense that he wasn’t used to taking orders from anyone other than his uncle, but he _was_ following hers so that bolstered her slightly.

She only found bullets and a few coins, though she was hardly surprised. The men seemed to carry all their possessions on them at all times. Turning to her brother as he patted his horse’s neck, she glanced at the revolvers strapped to his belt.

“I don’t have a weapon.”

He raised his eyebrows as he looked at her, shifting his weight to one foot. “... You want one of my guns?”

“Yes, please.” She held her hand out.

He just looked at her, then he exhaled a faint laugh and withdrew one, placing it in her hand.

“Guess it’s about time I saw you in action.”

“Well, hopefully it won’t come to that.” Adjusting her grip on the gun, Ada turned and crouched slightly, moving across to the trees opposite the archway of the property.

It was so quiet; whoever was in there was either alone or...

Her gaze drifted across the porch. It was cleaner, and there were small flowers dotted along the front of it.

Somebody was living here.

“Shit...” she breathed, dragging her teeth over her lower lip.

“What?”

She glanced at her brother, the tree he was leaning against doing nothing to obscure his tall frame.

“I think someone’s living here.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , we can’t just drive them out.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is their _home_.”

“And?”

It should have saddened her that she wasn’t surprised.

Licking her lips, she exhaled a harsh breath. “We are not driving someone out of their home, Thom.”

Raising his eyebrows, he lifted his hands in surrender before folding his arms. “What are we gonna do, then?”

Biting at the inside of her cheek, she shrugged. “We’ll just ask for some shelter and maybe a little food, depending on how they receive us.”

He scoffed, looking up at the cabin. “You think they’re gonna be welcomin’?”

“It’s worth a chance, isn’t it?”

“Not if we get shot.”

“We _won’t_.”

“How do you know that?”

“I _don’t_.” She pressed her lips together at his smile.

Shaking his head, he chuckled. “It’s nice to know you’re still bossy.”

Before she could reply, he had straightened, dropped his arms, and was striding up towards the cabin.

“ _Thom_ ,” she hissed, but he didn’t even look back. Muttering a curse under her breath, she tightened her grip on the revolver and hurried after him.

“Hello!” he called out rather jovially, moving under the archway.

There was a slight movement by one of the windows. Ada kept a few feet behind him, her hand half-raised. She hoped to God she would be a faster shot than whoever was in there.

The front door opened a crack, and she paused, staring at it, trying to make out who was there. Thom, on the other hand, was undeterred, continuing on, his hands on his belt.

“Hello, there!” He was practically strolling, calm as could be.

“What do you want?” came a soft, feminine voice, which finally made Thom stop.

Ada took another few steps closer, trying to make the woman out but she could only see less than half of her face. There could be others in there, using her as a shield or as a means to lull them into a false sense of security potentially.

Thom raised his hands, showing they were empty. “We just want some shelter, ma’am.”

“Well, I... I’m alone here.”

Ada believed her instantly; there was an edge of resignation in her tone, of sadness, of fear. Closing the distance between her and Thom, she swiftly holstered the gun into the waistband of her trousers at the small of her back before raising her hands, too.

“We won’t hurt you, ma’am, I promise. I stayed here a little while ago, I’m sorry, I thought the place would still be abandoned.”

The woman widened the door, though only a few inches, but Ada could see she had black hair that was pinned up neatly, and her clothes were rather fine, too. “It was. My husband and I moved here just over a week ago, but now he’s...” She didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to. The woman then smiled slightly. “Would you like to come in for some tea?”

“Yes, ma’am, we’d like that very much,” Thom answered, his tone having softened a touch, and Ada lowered her hands in the same moment he did.

The woman stepped back and opened the door fully as they approached, her small smile lingering.

“Thank you,” Ada smiled softly, nodding at her as she passed, and then she paused as she took in the room.

It had changed vastly from when she and Arthur had been here. There were _things_ now, trinkets and some photographs, and it was clean and tidy, a beautiful red rug on the floor, a doily on the centre of the table, the chairs neatly tucked into it. The fire was dwindling but it felt warm and like a _home_. 

The woman closed the door and Ada turned to her as Thom appraised the room, his hands in his pockets.

“I’m Ada, and this is my brother, Thom.”

She saw Thom nod at the woman as she clasped her hands together, wringing them a little; she was nervous.

“How do you do, I’m Charlotte.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Charlotte, and thank you so much, I hope we’re not an inconvenience.”

“No, no, not at all.” Dropping her hands, Charlotte moved to the kitchen area, lifting a tin kettle. “Please, take a seat, make yourselves at home.”

Ada glanced at Thom as Charlotte began to busy herself, both of them pulling a chair out and sitting. Thom stretched his long legs out, crossing them at the ankle and Ada sat with her legs together, hands clasped in her lap. She couldn’t stop her gaze from wandering the room again. She just couldn’t believe how different it was. Maybe she and Arthur _should_ have stayed, made it their own and just... She didn’t know. Tried to get John, Abigail, Jack and the others free from here? No, Arthur would have never left them... God, she hoped with all her might that they were okay.

As Charlotte set the kettle over the fire, she cleared her throat and then turned back to them. “I haven’t got much food, I... Well, I haven’t had a chance to go to town and I don’t know how to hunt, I’m afraid.”

Thom shook his head slightly, shrugging. “I’ll get somethin’, no bother.”

Charlotte released a breath as she looked at him, her smile widening. “Really? Oh, that’d be _very_ kind and very appreciated.”

Thom stood with a faint smile, his hands on his belt. “It’s fine. I’ll go and find somethin’ now.”

“Thank you!” Charlotte called after him, the tall man already having opened the door and striding through it, Ada saying after her, “Don’t go too far!”

She smiled lightly as she met the other woman’s gaze, then nodded at the fire. “Have you got any wood?”

Charlotte’s cheeks tinging pink and her slightly sheepish expression was all the answer she needed.

Over the next few hours, Ada chopped wood for her, showed her the best and quickest technique, and helped her with a few other odd jobs, grateful to finally be busy and useful for the first time in two weeks. When Thom returned with a deer he’d shot, Charlotte had looked like she was going to cry with relief. They helped her prepare and cook it, showing her how, and Ada found herself unable to believe she was so... unprepared for this kind of life. She politely asked over the fine meal they shared how Charlotte had come to end up here, and her heart broke for her as she told of how her husband had wanted to live this kind of ‘simple’ life, that she’d been excited for it, but then he’d unfortunately passed away. Ada didn’t press her about the cause and neither did Thom, who was silent for the whole time; Charlotte still seemed quietly devastated about it, naturally.

Ada helped her wash up as Thom chopped some more wood and made sure the horses were fed, watered and secured for the night. She’d warmed to the woman almost instantly, believing there to be a quiet, maybe even unrealised strength in her. She was unprepared, yes, but she had seemed eager to learn and had listened attentively to everything they’d said. She even shared a laugh with her as they washed and dried up, fascinated by Charlotte’s stories of the city she’d come from. How different a world it seemed, even as it was growing smaller.

As they finished and fell silent, Ada glanced out of the window, watching Thom light himself a cigarette as he looked out at the land. Licking her lips, she then looked to the woman.

“Charlotte,” she began gently, “I hate for us to be a burden, but could we possibly stay the night? Of course it’s okay if not—”

Charlotte was already shaking her head and smiling. “I’d like nothing more, Ada. I’ve missed company, and it’s the least I could do for your help.”

Ada felt relief course through her as she smiled. “Thank you so much, that’s very kind.”

“It’s no trouble at all, believe me.”

Charlotte was so delighted at having company, in fact, that she immediately went and made sure the bedroom was suitably prepared for them, having politely refused Ada’s help after the red-haired woman had assured her that they would be happy sharing a room.

Ada took the time to tend to the fire, and as Charlotte came out, Thom came in from the porch, shutting the door behind him with a cough.

“Well, the room’s ready for you both,” she said as she clasped her hands together, a warm smile on her lips.

_Bless you, Charlotte,_ **_bless_ ** _you._

Rising to her feet, Ada exhaled a long breath. “Well, I think I’m gonna turn in now, I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Thom surprised her by agreeing.

“Thank you both so much for today,” Charlotte beamed, stepping away from the door.

“Please, we should be thanking you a thousand times over.” _Please don’t ask why, I don’t want to tell you we’re fugitives._ “Good night, Charlotte.”

“Goodnight, Ada.”

As she passed her she squeezed the woman’s arm gently, making her smile widen, and then she was in the room, nearly sighing in relief at the sight of the bed.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Thom.”

Was that a slight hitching in their host’s breath? Sitting on the edge of the bed, she just caught the end of Thom and Charlotte holding each other’s gaze before Thom stepped into the room.

Oh, she recognised that look in a man. And she didn’t blame him, Charlotte was an attractive woman and seemingly unfailingly kind. It was a shame she was stuck up here on her own.

Thom closed the door behind him, and Ada raised her eyebrows slightly as he now met her gaze.

“Well... Are we gonna top and tail?”

He arched an eyebrow, his arms folding. “Do you still kick in your sleep?”

Her mouth opened, then closed.

Thom snorted. “I’ll take the floor.”

“No, come on, it’s not fair, we can share...”

Moving to the end of the bed, he glanced at her, kicking his boots off. “You could’ve at least _tried_ to sound convincing.”

Her lips twitched as she kicked her own boots off, hoping he wouldn’t hear the knife moving inside one, before lifting her feet up onto the bed, crossing her legs. “Do you want to get kicked in the head?”

He huffed out a laugh, taking a couple of pillows from the bed before returning to the end of it. “My head’s been hit more than enough times, no, thank you.”

Ada fell silent at that, the insinuation of the scuffles and battles he’d been in. The reminder of the violence he was capable of. She twisted her ring around her finger as she looked at him, watching him lay the pillows down and then pull a blanket off the end of the bed.

She didn’t think she’d ever be able to describe what she was feeling. Elation, sadness, unease. All of it mixed in to create... exhaustion.

There was another emotion, too. But she’d never be able to say it.

“So, how d’you know about this place.” His gaze met hers. 

She smiled lightly, shrugging a shoulder. “A friend and I came here.”

“Was that friend Arthur?”

She watched him, trying to gauge his thoughts as she cleared her throat. “No... but he and I did also come here after.”

“Uh-huh.”

Surprisingly, there was a faint smirk at the corners of his mouth.

Lifting her chin a little, she shrugged again. “Well, it’s none of your business, so.”

“Nah, I guess it isn’t.”

She narrowed her eyes at him slightly as she felt her cheeks heat, his smirk growing.

“Stop it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Judging.”

“I’m not _judging_. I’m not an old woman.”

“Good.” She raised her chin a little higher as he unbuckled his gunbelt. “Because I can imagine you’ve done your fair share of... relations.”

He laughed. Actually tipped his head back and laughed. Grinning, his eyebrows high, he looked at her. “’Relations’?”

Her cheeks were practically red, even as her lips twitched. “What would you rather I say? Fucking?”

Thom pulled a face, scratching at his jaw as he placed his guns down by his pillow. “Ooff, hearing my little sister curse... If anything was gonna ruin the image of that sweet little girl—”

She scoffed, just about resisting the urge to put her hands on her waist. “Uh, _you_ were the one who taught me curse words, so, what do you expect.”

“Yeah, that’s true. But do you remember I made you promise not to say them?”

She pursed her lips as she feigned thinking deeply. “Hmm... no, nope, don’t recall that.”

“Of course you don’t, you little tomcat...”

She smacked his hand away as he leaned over and ruffled her hair.

“Get _off_.”

He chuckled as he crouched down and sat on his make-shift bed, before lying back, stretching his legs out. She in turn blew out the candle on the bedside table, plunging the room into darkness, lay back and pulled a blanket up over herself, her hands settling on her stomach.

It was a comfortable enough bed, and she was damn happy for it.

“I hope I get a good night’s sleep,” she found herself murmuring.

“Oh, my tent not good enough for you?” came his voice in the dark.

“Well... it was too loud.”

“Hm, can’t argue with you on that.” She heard him shift slightly. “I bet that’s how we were found.”

“Well, there _were_ a lot of you.”

“Yeah, but...” She stayed silent as he exhaled a breath. “It’s never happened before. World’s changing.”

Her lips lifted a little. “Arthur said that. Pinkerton’s have been going after us rather vigorously, too.”

Ada didn’t realise that she’d said ‘us’, that her brother would think about nothing else for the next couple of hours, that it would consume him.

“That so.”

“Yeah, but here we are, living to fight another day.”

Turning onto her side, she closed her eyes as she curled up, her smile lingering as she couldn’t believe she got to say what she was about to for the second time.

“Goodnight, Thom.”

There was a small pause, then a quiet, “Goodnight, Addy.”

The nickname was, slowly, starting to not bother her.

* * *

The next morning, she awoke before Thom.

He slept quietly, arm under his pillow, his lips parted. Sitting up, she watched him for a few minutes, _still_ not quite believing he was really there, really alive.

He looked so at peace. So unburdened. Here was the sweet boy she remembered.

She couldn’t believe how easy it had been to slip back into the role of a sibling, of how comfortable and _easy_ it was, even after all this time.

Her rumbling stomach soon pulled her from her disbelief, and she carefully moved off the bed and headed out, closing the door quietly. Charlotte was already awake, too, her hair pinned up neatly once more, another set of fine clothes on.

They bade each other good morning, and shared toast and coffee, gazing out of the window and idly commenting on the weather. It was a clear day, a few clouds here and there. After Ada complimented Charlotte on her clothing, the woman offered to give her a few items, saying she’d brought too many. Ada refused politely at first but Charlotte insisted and, well, she did need a change of clothes. Once they’d finished eating, Charlotte led her out the back door to the small, private washing area which housed a bath tub, and Ada jumped at the chance to bathe in something that wasn’t a river.

With her permission, Charlotte stayed, helping her wash her hair and talking with her. Ada found it easy to talk to her, and she had obviously been starved of company and good conversation. They talked about the new fashion of the city, what new things were being invented and imported over, and Ada told her about the nearby towns and the best places to buy food for a good price. She even found herself telling Charlotte about why they had come to her, hoping her judgement of character was correct, but, perhaps thankfully, Charlotte was so new to the area that the name Colm O’Driscoll only rang a faint bell. Nevertheless, Ada didn’t give too many details, she didn’t want to frighten her.

After helping her dress into new underclothes, a light blue skirt and a light grey blouse, Charlotte then braided her dry hair up into a style she’d not had before, a plait wrapped around a bun Charlotte had made, a few smaller curls escaping and framing her face.

She felt like an entirely new woman, clean, fresh, human. Inspecting herself with a hand-mirror, she smiled widely and looked to Charlotte.

“Wow, you’re a miracle worker.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

Both women looked up to find Thom, finally awake, leaning against the doorframe, eating an apple. He’d not run a comb through his hair yet, maybe he wouldn’t, and his clothes were wrinkled.

Charlotte laughed softly. “Oh, no, I just provided the clothes.”

“I wouldn’t be so unfair to yourself. You’ve made my sister look like a proper lady.”

Ada snorted as she set the hand-mirror down and arched an eyebrow, a hand on her hip. “And you’re the perfect gentleman? You look like you’ve just wandered in off the street.”

“I only said you _look_ like a lady, I know you’d never actually be one.” Ignoring his sister’s narrowed eyes, smiling widely, his gaze then shifted to the other woman. “You look nice, too, Charlotte.”

Charlotte’s smile widened as a pink tinge rose on her cheeks, her hands clasping together. “Thank you, Thom.”

“My pleasure.” Taking a bite of his apple, he was then turning and disappearing back inside.

Glancing at Charlotte, Ada found her smile and blush lingering.

_Oh,_ **_God_ ** _, this is the last thing I need._

Clearing her throat, she smiled as the other woman quickly looked to her. “Shall we have some tea?”

They all sat together at the table, drinking their tea quietly, and now the day was really beginning, Ada found Thom had the same thoughts as her on his mind.

“What’s gonna happen now, then?”

Taking a breath, she steeled herself as she met his gaze. “I’m gonna go into Annesburg, see if anyone knows anything yet.”

He nodded. “All right, I’ll come with you.”

Ada shook her head, her features softening slightly. “No, stay here, please. They might be searching for O’Driscolls still and someone could recognise you.”

His jaw moved, but she knew that he knew she was right. After a few moments, he nodded once, exhaling a breath. “Fine. But if you’re not back in a couple of hours—”

“I will be, I promise.” She gave him a light smile before her gaze shifted to Charlotte. “Would you like me to get you anything from the store while I’m there?”

The woman lit up. “Oh, yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble, I need some bread and cheese, and bullets, I guess,” she laughed softly as she looked to the Repeater propped by the fireplace. “Not that I know how to use the damn thing, but...” She trailed off suddenly as her smile faded. “... Actually, I don’t have much money—”

Ada had opened her mouth but it was Thom who spoke. “Please, our gift, repayment for your hospitality. And I can show you how to use the gun.”

Ada glanced at him, trying not to raise her eyebrows as Charlotte smiled widely. “Oh, thank you, that would be very kind.”

A corner of Thom’s mouth lifted higher than the other. “No bother at all.”

_Oh,_ **_God_ ** _... Don’t worry, brother, I’ll be back_ **_very_ ** _soon._

* * *

The horse snorted quietly as her head tossed a little, and Ada patted her neck.

“Nearly there,” she murmured, and she was grateful for it herself.

In fact, she actually breathed a sigh of relief as they turned onto the path leading up towards Willard’s Rest. She’d only been gone nearly two hours now, but unease had loomed over her every minute.

What if she turned a corner and there were Pinkertons? Or Murfrees? Other O’Driscolls? Or anyone else who would do her harm? She’d briefly considered turning back and asking Thom to come with her but she knew she couldn’t risk it, _wouldn’t_ risk it. 

Besides, Thom had given her one of his guns, and when she actually got into Annesburg people were as unbothered as they’d been when she and Sadie had passed through one time. The mining town was loud and calmly busy as always, people walking about, talking, working, but nobody stared for long; there was too much to do.

She bought what was needed from the store, making idle conversation with the owner, then found a boy selling newspapers outside and he’d told her what was going to happen.

She’d let the horse walk back for the entire journey, trying to think about what she could say to Thom, how she could dissuade him from what she knew he was going to want.

As she arrived back at the cabin, the sky turning a little grey, she had no firm answers.

Moving under the archway, her stomach twisted as she paused. She could see Charlotte and Thom through the window, the warm fire illuminating them. She was smiling and listening intently to whatever he was saying, and he looked so relaxed.

This could have been their life. 

She had no idea where that thought came from, but she imagined, then, indulged herself for a moment, that things had been different, that she was just visiting her brother and his wife. His wife... Charlotte was everything her mother would have wanted in a daughter-in-law; educated, polite, kind. She was perhaps everything Thom would have wanted in a partner, too. Then again, she had no idea what her brother wanted. 

No matter, it was a nice fantasy.

They looked up as she entered, Thom’s shoulders relaxing a little as Charlotte’s smile widened.

“Ada!” Charlotte greeted her, but then the smile faded as they saw her expression.

Clearing her throat, Ada closed the door and moved towards the table, placing the few items she had bought down. Then, her hands went to the back of the chair before her, resting on it.

Looking to her brother, she met his gaze.

“Colm’s to be hanged.”

Thom held her gaze, expression unchanging.

“When.”

“Tomorrow, noon, in Saint Denis.”

“Lord, that’s quick,” Charlotte murmured gently.

Shifting her stance, Ada licked her lips. “I believe he’s to be made an example of.” Her gaze returned to her brother. “And I suppose they don’t want to risk his men breaking him out.”

He gave no reaction again. Then, he was rubbing his jaw before dropping his hand. As he took a breath, she readied herself for it.

“Ada, I know you got certain feelings about him, but I have to be there. You weren’t there for all those years that he looked after me, you didn’t see him. He was a good man.”

How these men had such hold over their boys.

But... she knew he’d go no matter what, so why fight? 

She nodded a few times, a slight smile pulling at her lips. “All right.”

Nodding, he suddenly rose, pushing his chair back. “If we go now, we can camp outside Saint Denis, be there first thing.”

“Thom, we...” She trailed off, her brother already heading into the room they’d shared.

Exhaling a breath, Ada glanced at Charlotte, and smiled quickly as the other woman met her gaze.

“I guess we’ll be going, then.”

Barely ten minutes later, they were outside, readying their horses. Charlotte stood on the porch, watching them, and Ada’s heart ached at the thought of her being alone here again. Licking her lips, she ran her hand along her horse’s neck as she moved towards her.

Smiling softly, Ada moved onto the porch, lifting her hands a little. “I really can’t thank you enough, Charlotte, you’ve been far too kind.” 

The dark-haired woman just waved her hand slightly, dismissively, a gentle smile on her lips. “It really was my pleasure.”

And then, because it felt right and needed, Ada closed the distance between them and hugged her. Charlotte paused for only a split-second before she was returning it, exhaling a small breath.

“You can write to me, if you like,” she murmured quietly, and Ada nodded before stepping back, her smile widening a little more.

“I will, I promise. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too. My home is always welcome to you, to both of you.” Her gaze lifted from Ada to Thom, and she nodded at him.

Ada looked to her brother, too, and he was smiling lightly.

“Thank you, Charlotte. I’ll come back and check on you soon, make sure that Repeater’s being put to good use.”

Charlotte exhaled a soft laugh as she clasped her hands together. “I’d like that.”

She stood on the porch and waved to them as they departed, and she stood there until they were out of sight. Once she could no longer see her, Ada faced the road, and glanced at her brother.

“... Will you now,” she murmured, arching an eyebrow as her lips twitched.

Thom side-eyed her. “Don’t give me that look.”

“I’m not giving any look, I’m just... surprised, is all.”

“Well... She’s a nice woman. Shouldn’t be there on her own.” Before Ada could say another word, he was urging his horse into a canter. “Now, c’mon, I want to get there before it gets dark.”

She didn’t know why he was so eager to get to Saint Denis when they’d still have to wait until the next day to actually see Colm. It wasn’t like he could visit him at the jail, either, it would be too risky, someone could identify him and then where would that leave them?

It wasn’t until they were at the town limits, wasn’t until they had set up camp under a large tree, wasn’t until she had settled down for the night after they’d eaten, wasn’t until she heard him quietly heading towards the town when he thought she was asleep, wasn’t until she followed him, keeping a distance and in the shadows, wasn’t until she saw him heading into a bar, wasn’t until she peered through a window and saw Zach, Dorian, and four other O’Driscolls, all of them listening to her brother, that she realised.

He was planning on rescuing Colm.

* * *

Ada watched him as he stamped the fire out, lacing her boots up.

She’d returned to their camp hours before him. In fact, she’d only stared through the window for a few moments before turning on her heel and striding away.

Why was she surprised? What else could she have done?

Gone in? Confronted them? Caused a scene? Potentially have had them arrested? Her brother wouldn’t have listened to her no matter what she did. He knew her feelings, knew she wouldn’t want to help. And she knew his. Knew he was stubborn, would want to save the man who had practically raised him, of course he would.

She’d lain on her bedroll, staring up at the dark night sky, and had felt so useless. Trapped, again. She didn’t want to leave her brother, didn’t want to turn him in, and she knew he wouldn’t listen, but how could she let him save Colm? She knew what that would mean for her; being trapped with them again with no way of escaping. 

Then had come the guilt.

How awful that she wanted to escape the brother she’d thought had been dead for years.

He’d returned in the early hours of the morning, quietly and alone, and she’d kept her eyes closed.

Now, with time ticking past, noon drawing closer, she’d finally decided what to do.

Wait and see.

She knew, with such a public hanging as this, that there would be a crowd and plenty of officers. Hell, they probably anticipated an attempt at a rescue and would have men everywhere. But she also knew the O’Driscolls didn’t fight fair, so there was still a chance they could be successful. If they were, she would run. She would find a way, seize a moment, and run in whatever chaos and confusion was caused. If they weren’t, then, well... She would speak with her brother. Try to reason with him.

They weren’t the best plans she’d ever come up with but they’d have to do.

They rode into Saint Denis silently, their horses walking idly. As they neared the place he was to be hanged, what was usually a very small park, they turned off the cobbles and down onto the dirt path beside it, drawing their horses to a halt some way down. Dismounting, she adjusted the scarf Charlotte had given her, the green garment she tied under her chin hiding her hair. She didn’t think any officers or Pinkertons would know who she was, but she didn’t want to risk it. Thom was the one she was concerned about, but he had a hat on, pulled low so it covered most of his face, and it would have to do. 

They moved up towards the walled park, and her gaze scanned the sizeable crowd that had already gathered, anticipation running through the air.

She saw two O’Driscolls who had been in the bar the night before stood together, talking and laughing, looking up at the scaffold. Her jaw moved slightly. Perhaps it was good the crowd was large; she could get lost in it. Thom led the way, moving through the crowd, pushing through until he suddenly came to a stop, holding his arm out slightly so there was space of her to stand beside him. He dropped the arm after a moment, his hands going into his pockets and he stared up at the platform, too.

She glanced at him, swallowing lightly. If this went well for him and she had to run, she hoped he would be able to forgive her, that part of him would understand. 

Only time would tell, and as voices in the crowd started to rise, jeers and curses being spat, and her eyes lifted to the gallows, she knew it would be mere minutes because there he was.

Colm O’Driscoll was led onto the scaffold, his hands tied behind his back, by an important looking man and three officers, two of them carrying rifles. He looked even more dishevelled than usual, wearing an untucked shirt, trousers and shoes, a white bandanna around his neck. 

The jeering of the crowd grew louder as one of the men made Colm stop at the centre of the platform, making him gaze out at the crowd. She glanced at Thom again, wondering how he felt knowing Colm was really and truly hated, but his features were expressionless, just watching his uncle.

“Fair citizens of Saint Denis...” the bespectacled, important looking man began, raising his hands slightly to get them to quieten, a hush descending. There was a strange energy in the air, anticipation and anger and excitement. The man’s voice rang out as he continued. “... For as long as any of us can remember, it is justice that separates us from barbary. Yet justice itself at times can be barbaric. For sometimes, a man is so savage the only way to deal with him justly is by savagery. Colm O’Driscoll is one such man.” He paused to allow the crowd their calls and shouts of agreement. Thom didn’t move beside her. “He has murdered, tortured, robbed, stolen, raped and abused for a decade across five states. Seemingly with impunity.” The man was having to talk louder now as the shouts from the crowd swelled. Ada, even by just mere association with the man on the platform, felt her cheeks burn with shame. She didn’t want to look at Thom, didn’t want to see what she knew was there; nothing, calm. “... Today, justice catches up with him.”

As the crowd cheered, Colm laughed. _Laughed,_ and her shame fell away to anger as she stared at him and his grin.

“As well you may. I’ve been a bad man!”

She couldn’t believe the audacity of him.

“Silence!” the man called, and an officer stepped up behind Colm, who was still talking swiftly, “These charges—”

He was cut off by the officer raising the bandanna from his neck to his mouth, tightening it so he couldn’t speak.

“This is not a court where you shall be tried,” the man was continuing, “This is a place where your sentence is to be carried out...”

Ada could hear a small commotion to her left, people moving slightly, but she just assumed more people were joining. Besides, she couldn’t take her eyes off of Colm. Despite his mouth being obstructed, she could tell he was smiling, his eyes twinkling as he gazed out at the angry crowd.

“... and your sentence, Colm O’Driscoll, is that you are to be hanged by the neck until dead...”

Colm was still seemingly smiling, and then his gaze shifted, looking to his right of the crowd.

He paused, staring at something. Ada tried to follow his gaze but all she could see was hats and heads, so her attention darted back to him. The smile was gone. An officer was now fitting the noose around his neck.

“... This is not a task we take lightly...”

“Fuck... Oh, _fuck_...” Thom was hissing, his arms now by his side, and his head whipped round to look behind him.

Ada turned her own head, following his gaze to a building, but she couldn’t understand what he was looking at. Her eyes shifting to him, her lips parted.

Whatever was meant to be happening, wasn’t.

Her head turned, and she looked at Colm.

She realised then, in the same moment he did.

He was going to die.

He really thought he would have escaped once more.

It really had all been bullshit, then. Letting them go, with a silent ‘blessing’. He thought he’d escape, probably would have come after them again, or expected, no, _known_ Thom would have gone back to him. And she probably in tow.

“... it is not a task we enjoy...”

Colm looked up to behind the crowd, and whatever he saw made him freeze. She, in turn, couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

This was going to be it.

“... but it is a task we must carry out if our civilisation is to prosper...”

Colm was shifting from foot to foot now, his eyes darting about wildly. 

“... Gentlemen, are we ready?”

At the man’s words, Colm’s gaze fixed forward once more, and she could see him breathing heavily. 

Thom was shifting at her side and she could hear him breathing hard, too, hissing out curses under his breath, but she knew.

She knew it was no use. Nothing could be done.

“Colm O’Driscoll, may God, in his infinite wisdom, have mercy upon your soul.” The man nodded at an officer. “Whenever you are ready.”

Ada had to remind herself to breathe. Colm’s chest was heaving, fear overwhelming his features.

Then the officer pulled the lever, and the floor beneath Colm opened. Thom stiffened as his uncle dropped, and, with the rope tight around his throat, his neck broke and he died.

Ada stared at the hanging body of her uncle, and felt... relief. That was it. It was finally done—

“... ruined my _life!_ ” 

A gunshot erupted in the same moment people screamed, and then, in the blink of an eye, there was pandemonium.

“ _Die! Die!_ ” A voice was yelling as more bullets were fired, and Ada instinctively reached out to grab Thom’s arm as people ran, feeling his other arm going around her and—

She knew that voice. Her eyes wide, she craned her neck as Thom pulled her backwards, making her feet move, people running in every direction, and then she saw her.

Sadie Adler, in a yellow dress and hat with huge feathers in it, shooting her gun and screaming, the two O’Driscoll boys dead at her feet... and Dutch van der Linde was yanking her backwards, dressed in an officer’s uniform, brandishing his own gun. She and Thom froze in the same moment, staring at them.

More shots were being fired and not just from Sadie; more O’Driscolls had appeared, much more than there had been in the bar, and they were in every direction. She was about to call out to Sadie when Thom surged past her, his gun in his hand.

Heading for Sadie.

Lunging forward, Ada grabbed his arm and pulled as hard as she could, trying to drag him behind a wall for cover.

“Thom, wait, _stop_ , don’t, I _know_ her—”

The speed with which he suddenly turned round to face her nearly knocked her off her feet, his hand tightly gripping her arm and pushing her against the wall.

“ _What?_ ”

He was hurting her, making her hiss out a breath, but time was precious. Staring up at him, she implored, “Please don’t, she’s a friend!”

“From Dutch’s gang?” He was having to raise his voice due to the incessant gunfire, but anger also laced his tone.

“She’s not really loyal to him!”

“Doesn’t seem that way.”

Ada swallowed hard, his grip still tight. “Believe me, she isn’t, she just wants... because of Colm her husband died and she lost her farm!”

Thom raised his eyebrows slightly, his jaw moving. “This was her revenge?”

“Yes.”

“And why haven’t you taken revenge against Dutch?”

She stilled, staring at him. “... What?”

Thom stared at her, shaking his head. “He killed Da, Ada. How long have you been with him?”

“I’m _not_ with him—”

“No, you’re just in love with his adopted son and have followed his orders for the last few months.”

“I didn’t have a choice—”

He shook her, silencing her. “Yes, you did. You _did_.”

It was then she realised.

He was disappointed. Angry at _her_. Probably had been since he’d found out she was with the Van der Linde Gang willingly, the euphoria of their reunion having kept him quiet.

She just stared at him, her stomach twisting, feeling sick. And he was silent, too, not allowing her to leave this accusation unanswered. Her mouth moving, her chin trembling, actually, she couldn’t bear the betrayal in his eyes, Ada didn’t know what to say.

A man suddenly slammed into the wall behind Thom, grabbing his shoulder.

“Thom, what the fuck are you still doing here?!” Dorian yelled above the noise. “Come on, they’re blocking off the streets, we gotta go!”

Thom nodded even as he kept his eyes on her, and then, finally, he released her, straightening and looking across the street.

“All right, our horses are back there on the road out of town, get the boys and we’ll meet at Little Creek!”

“All right!”

Thom watched Dorian race across the street before he took her hand and started pulling her along, heading for where they’d left their horses.

But she yanked her hand out of his grip, the surprise of it not giving him a chance to tighten it.

Stopping, he turned to her and she swallowed hard.

“Come on, Ada.”

She could only shake her head.

His jaw moved. “Ada, come on. This is a choice you’re making.”

She licked her dry lips, her voice quiet, devastated. “I can’t go with you, Thom.”

Her brother stared at her, some of the hardness to his features melting away and it broke her heart.

And then he lunged forward. She gasped as he stooped, wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her up onto his shoulder in one swift movement, his hat falling from his head.

“Put me down!” she yelled, trying to struggle but his grip was tight and he was already moving, striding across the street.

“I’m not losin’ you again, Ada,” he hissed, and, with his gun still in his other hand, he suddenly shot at something she couldn’t see, making her stiffen.

He was moving so quickly, jostling her, that she barely had time to get to grips with her surroundings. He was moving away from where the horses were, heading down an alley way, and all she could do was grip at the back of his shirt.

“Billy! Dan!”

“Thom!” A man called, and then she was swiftly set down on her feet, stumbling slightly at the suddenness.

Thom gripped her shoulder, though, and turned her, and she came face to face with two men, possibly barely older than she was. Thom shoved her towards them, one of the men instinctively grabbing her arm to steady her.

“You two, stay here, keep her safe. I’m gonna get the boys and the horses.”

“Sure thing, Thom, don’t worry about it.”

Thom didn’t even glance at her as he turned and strode away, darting out of the alley way and out of sight. Swallowing hard, she pulled her arm out of the man’s grip but he didn’t say anything, just moving past her and standing guard, staring down the direction of the alley way Thom had gone.

Ada realised she was trembling slightly, her breathing shaking. It was just because she’d been caught off guard, she told herself.

The other man had his back to her, too, looking towards a courtyard with his gun raised. 

_Do something, do something, do something..._

She couldn’t stay here. She _had_ to take this chance. Shots were coming from seemingly every part of the town, but she could get away and hide, officers would think she was a normal citizen, and if Sadie and Dutch were still here, she could find them, she knew she could... But how to get away.

She shifted her stance as she swallowed... and felt the knife in her boot knock against her leg. She paused, glancing at both men. They still had their backs to her, obeying their orders of keeping guard. As quietly and carefully as possible, she leaned down, her hand going into her boot. Withdrawing the knife, she straightened and unsheathed it.

She knew she’d have to be quick.

Licking her lips, she turned to the man facing the street. Moving slowly, gripping the knife tightly, she neared him, trying to keep her breathing steady.

_Don’t think about it, just do it._

She lunged.

Driving the knife into his back, as he yelled and his legs gave out in shock, her other hand darted out and grabbed his gun. Turning swiftly, she aimed at the other man who had spun round and pulled the trigger. He cried out as he was knocked backwards, falling to the floor. Returning her attention to the man she stabbed, she aimed the gun at his back and fired again, making him splutter and fall forwards. 

_Go, go, go, go, go..._

Pulling the knife out of his back, still bloody she swiftly sheathed it and pushed it back into her boot before she was running down the alley way towards the courtyard. The other man had already died, his blood spreading across the cobblestones. She just glanced at him as she passed, sprinting away.

Crossing the courtyard, she was relieved to find it empty, people having fled the scene or hiding in their homes. Moving up a couple of stairs, she darted across a smaller courtyard and turned down an alley way—

She slammed into something solid.

Crying out, her eyes widened as she tried to jerk backwards, but hands gripped her biceps and she gritted her teeth and—

Arthur, dressed in an officer’s uniform, stared down at her.

All the breath left her body as her lips parted.

“Oh my God...”

Then his arms were around her in a tight embrace, practically lifting her off the ground, and hers wrapped around his neck, her eyes closing tightly.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God...” she breathed over and over, before she was pulling her head back and cupping his face with her free hand.

He was already talking, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Where the _hell_ have you been, woman? Huh?”

Tears were pricking at her eyes as she exhaled a thick laugh. “Oh, you know, around.”

“Don’t you give me that fuckin’ smart mouth now, I swear to God...”

She laughed again, but the sound was swiftly stolen by his lips claiming hers. She gripped the back of his neck, kissing him fiercely. It was several moments before they finally parted and he placed her back on the ground, his eyes shining.

Ada swallowed as her fingers caressed his cheek. He was alive and _well_ , not a bruise or a cut on him. Her eyes then widened as she inhaled a breath.

“John—”

“He’s fine, he’s fine, we got him, don’t worry,” he assured her quickly, his hands resting on her waist, and relief flooded through her.

“Oh, thank God...” Her smile returned as she gazed at him, and neither of them really knew what to say, even though a thousand questions ran through their minds.

But as a gun fired somewhere close by, her smile faded, and she suddenly realised what had to be done.

Glancing over his shoulder, she then held his gaze, licking her lips and lowering her voice. “Arthur, you have leave.”

He blinked as his brow dipped. “What?”

“I found Thomas—”

“ _What?_ ”

“He’s alive, and I just...” She shook her head a few times as she gazed at him. “... I want us to leave the gang, I want us out of all of this.”

A quiet sigh left him. “It ain’t the righ’ time—”

“When will it _ever_ be the right time—”

“Soon,” he silenced her gently, his fingers caressing her waist. He lowered his voice a little more as he continued, “Abigail thinks she knows where Dutch is keepin’ all the money.”

Her lips parted as hope started to build within her. “Really?”

Arthur nodded, shrugging a shoulder. “Trelawney’s gone, other people seem like they’re ready to at any moment. People ain’t happy.” Lifting a hand, he cupped her cheek. “I want John, Jack and Abigail out of this, us, too, but it ain’t the righ’ time just yet.”

Her hand settled on his arm, squeezing gently, her gaze searching his. “Do you mean that? Do you really want to leave?”

A corner of his mouth lifted as his features softened. “Yeah, I do.”

A rush of breath left her as she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, her eyes closing.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to leave, he wanted to leave, he wanted to leave...

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head as his arm wrapped around her and she couldn’t believe he was _here_ —

Another gunshot, sounding closer, brought her back to reality. Pulling back, she gripped his arm.

“I have to go.”

“What? Why?”

She shook her head. “Thom’s not... I have to stay with him, for a little while.”

His brow was dipping again. “Sweetheart—”

This was going to kill her.

“ _Please_ , Arthur,” she begged him gently. “I’m afraid he’s going to do something terrible, something to you probably, and the gang. They have a main camp, he said, in West Elizabeth, near Little Creek River, they said they’re going to go there, all right, to regroup.”

He was nodding. “All right, I’ll come for you.”

Ada shook her head as she squeezed his arm lightly. “Don’t... don’t make it a priority.”

He nearly looked devastated. “What? Are you serious—”

“Thom won’t just let me go, Arthur, not without a fight, if I can get some time with him and talk to him—”

“Ada?”

She stiffened at Thom’s voice, calling for her from what sounded like the alley way he’d left her in.

Arthur opened his mouth but she murmured swiftly, “I have to go, Arthur, _please_ understand.”

She didn’t give him a chance to give his answer, her hand cupping his face as she rose up on her toes and pressed a fierce, firm kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” she whispered, and then she was turning and striding away, unable to look back at him.

If she had, his expression would have broken her heart.

She moved swiftly down the stairs, crossing the courtyard once more.

“Ada!”

“I’m here, Thom.”

Swallowing hard, she slowed as she neared the alley way, finding Thom, Zach and Dorian stood in it, staring down at the bodies of Billy and Dan. Her brother arched an eyebrow as he gestured at them with his gun.

“What the hell happened?”

She licked her lips as she shrugged a shoulder. “They tried to touch me.”

He looked at her, then down at the bodies. Running his tongue along his teeth, he nodded once and held a hand out to her. “We’ll leave the bastards here. Come on.”

She went towards him, and he took the gun from her hand once she was within reach, holstering it, and then grabbed her hand. He followed Dorian out of the alley way, pulling her along, Zach behind her, and then they were darting across the street towards a small group of horses. There were other O’Driscoll men around them, firing at officers who were trying to approach. Thom just continued on, and when they were at the horses and he released her hand, she was about to move to the dapple she’d previously been riding as Thom mounted his horse, when he held a hand out to her.

Looking up at him, she frowned. “What—”

Hands gripped her waist and she was lifted onto the horse behind him. Inhaling sharply at the sudden movement, once she was seated her head turned and she found Zach pulling his hands away from her, expressionless as always.

As he mounted his own horse, she had to quickly grab at Thom’s shirt as he urged his horse forward, keeping his gun gripped in his hand, the reins in the other. The small group of them galloped out of Saint Denis, Dorian, on her dapple, to their left, Zach to their right, and a few other men behind them.

They left behind the echoing sounds of gunfire, though there seemed to be less than before. Gripping Tom’s shirt, she pressed her lips together as she tried not to think about Arthur and where he was.

Thom didn’t speak until they were out of Lemoyne, finally slowing the horse a little.

“We’ll go to Little Creek, far away from this shit hole.”

She just couldn’t help but flinch slightly every time he swore. She’d had the memory of a sweet young boy in her head for far too long.

That boy was gone.


	20. Day Is Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

**Two Weeks Earlier**

“Abigail! Abigail, where you at!” Sadie hollered as she pulled her horse to a halt at the entrance of the camp.

People lifted their heads, then stared and grinned.

Abigail darted up from where she was sat with Jack around the fire, and cried out.

“Oh my God!”

Arthur couldn’t stop a grin of his own as John Marston gripped his arm and slid off his horse with a grunt. Gazing down at his brother in all but blood, Arthur nodded, and John returned it with a small, tired, grateful smile before he turned to the sobbing woman running towards him.

“Oh, you brought him back to me!”

“Told you we would!” Sadie replied matter-of-factly as Abigail and John embraced, the latter wincing slightly.

Arthur felt some, but only some, of the weight leave his shoulders at the sight of them, and as Jack ran over, crying out for his Pa and wrapping an arm around his leg, a smile pulled at his lips. Now he just had to─

“John!”

_Here we go..._

Arthur felt a prickling sensation down his spine at Dutch’s tone... which wasn’t exactly laced in elation.

The older man was striding towards them, Micah, as he always seemed to be now, shadowing him.

“ _What_ are you doin’ here?”

“Good to see you, too, partner,” John retorted as he released Abigail and Jack, stepping towards him.

They both halted when they were a foot away, John’s features as set as Dutch’s.

A muscle in Dutch’s jaw moved slightly. “I meant I hadn’t sent for you yet.”

“I went.”

The very air seemed to still at Arthur’s voice. 

Dutch’s eyes darted to him as he approached. “But I said that—”

“Yeah, I know what you said,” Arthur cut him off, his fingers rubbing against the pads of his thumbs. “I felt different.”

“Is that so?”

Arthur was before him now, beside John, expressionless as he held his gaze. “Yes.”

Dutch’s tone was low. “And when springing John brings the law down on all of us, what then, Arthur?”

_He_ was now concerned about the law coming after them? After all the shit he’d pulled?

“Well, I guess we’ll have another fight on our hands,” Arthur hissed.

“ _Loyalty_ , Arthur, it ain’t...” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I had a God _damn plan!_ ” The last two words finished on a yell, before he turned his attention to John, his tone imploring. “John, you are my brother, you are my _son_ , _I was coming_ for you.”

“They...” John began, shaking his head as he broke off. “... They was talking of hanging me, Dutch.”

“They was _talking_.” Arthur stared at Dutch as the older man’s arms raised. “ _They. Was. Talking,_ ” he repeated, _snarled_ , as he backed away. “And now they may come and hang us all!”

Abigail muttered something under her breath that Arthur couldn’t hear as the three of them watched Dutch and Micah stride away, the latter’s eyes looking between them all disapprovingly before he turned away. Then, Abigail was walking away, pulling John’s arm and getting him to follow.

Arthur let them go without saying a word; they needed their time together now, and John would never have to thank him for anything.

Exhaling a long, weary breath, he scratched at his chin, and decided he needed to spend some time with his own woman. She was like a balm to his mind, could always clear his head, make him think straight. Well, sometimes. Sometimes she also made his head spin and his mind blank.

He nearly laughed at himself.

What a romantic fool.

But, with John now back, and, particularly after _that_ conversation, he could tell her. He could tell her he was ready for them to go, as long as John and his family got out, too, and were safe. Glancing towards John’s tent, he watched them with a smile, Abigail cupping John’s face as they sat on stools, his hands resting on her knees, Jack at their feet, feeling more relieved than he could ever say.

But something was lingering in the back of his mind, troubling him. John had said on the way back that at the bank Dutch had seen him being taken, and it had felt like there was a moment where he could have intervened but didn’t. Arthur had, on reflex, quickly dismissed it, telling him Dutch wasn’t quite himself right now... but then he’d paused and surprised himself by actually saying what he was thinking. 

‘ _Maybe he just ain’t who we thought he was_.’

And he was truly starting to believe it.

Yes, he was ready to move on.

Clearing his throat, his hands went to his hips as his gaze lifted to the camp. Where was his—

His brow dipped slightly. It suddenly occurred to him that, with the small commotion that had been caused, it should have drawn her attention, as it had with the rest of the camp. He couldn’t see her, though. Dropping his arms, he headed for his area, finding blankets draped over it.

Stepping in, he found it empty, though her jacket lay on his bed. She had to be around somewhere, then, she wouldn’t head out without it. Ducking out, he surveyed the camp. People were working, talking or napping, periodically looking towards John and smiling, but Ada wasn’t amongst them. 

She was probably taking a watch, the woman just couldn’t sit still.

“Hey, Mary-Beth.”

The brown haired woman paused in her passing and smiled. “Hey, Arthur. You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah, fine. You seen Annie?”

She wrinkled her nose in thought. “Uh... no, not since you both came back.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Her smile returned as she released a breath. “I’m glad John’s back.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He had the grace to smile lightly and listen, even as his mind tried to figure out which path Ada would be keeping watch on.

“I just... I just hope that now things will feel a little like old times again,” Mary-Beth said in a small voice, her features as hopeful and as earnest as ever.

It nearly broke his heart. Nodding, he made his smile grow a touch wider. “Yeah, maybe.”

Watching her head away, he ran a hand down his mouth before he dropped it and started walking, heading around the ammunition wagon. He made his way to the closest path, the one Sadie had been guarding before they left, his hands on his belt. 

It was not Ada but Javier who greeted him, though, smiling widely.

“Hey, I heard John’s back! That’s some good news, _amigo_.”

Arthur managed a smile. “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll all be sick of him soon. You seen Annie?”

Javier shrugged, his eyebrows raising slightly. “No, not for a while.”

“All righ’, thanks.”

With a nod, Javier continued with his watch, heading back down the path, and Arthur stayed where he was.

Huh.

Turning, he walked slowly back up to camp. Maybe she’d gone out hunting, or... but, no, she’d said she’d stay to keep an eye on Dutch. He paused, his hands going to his hips as his jaw moved.

A tightness was brewing in his chest.

She wouldn’t have gone out.

Clearing his throat, he strode towards the camp.

"Annie?”

Tilly, sat back against a tree, sewing a button onto a shirt, looked up at him as he called out. Meeting her gaze, he lowered his voice slightly.

“Hey, Tilly, you seen Annie?”

She shook her head, giving a small smile. “No, I’m sorry, I haven’t.”

“Okay.”

_Okay. All right._

He moved into the main area of the camp, his eyes darting from person to person.

“Annie?”

People lifted their heads momentarily before continuing on with what they were doing. No one came forward as he willed, no one suddenly smiled and said they knew where she was, that she’d said to tell him that...

His chest felt tighter.

“Annie?”

“What are you yellin’ about, cowpoke?”

Arthur turned to find Micah sat at the table near Dutch’s tent, his boots up on a chair, idly sharpening a stick with his knife.

“You seen Annie?”

Micah snorted. “No, I ain’t her keeper. You are.”

Why did those words make him feel so fucking bad?

... Because in a way, he was. Something unsettling was eating at him from the inside.

Licking his lips, he looked away from Micah, scanning the camp and trees beyond it. “Annie?”

“You lost her?”

He nearly snarled. “Shut up, Micah. Annie!”

People raised their heads again, this time looking at him with faint frowns as he strode across the camp. Maybe she was at the main path, that he’d somehow—

Then he halted.

Mags was still here, eating grass amongst the other horses.

_Fuck._

“Arthur, everythin’ all right?”

He turned his head to find he was only a few feet from John’s tent, the flap closed, Abigail frowning gently at him as she sat outside it.

“Abigail, have you seen Annie?”

“I...” Her features were searching his. “We talked for a little while after you and Sadie left but then...” She shook her head as her shoulders dropped. “No, I haven’t.”

She must have seen the panic he was trying to hide because she rose to her feet, her features softening. “I’ll help you look for her, okay?”

“Okay.”

They headed towards the main path, finding Sadie keeping watch. The blonde woman’s features hardened because, yes, as Abigail said, this wasn’t like Annie.

Someone saying it out loud just made Arthur’s chest ache unbearably.

Sadie shouldered her rifle as she turned to the other woman. “Abigail, if you could get someone to take my watch, Arthur and I’ll look around.”

“All right.” Abigail smiled gently. “She can’t have gone far, Arthur, maybe she went down to the river to wash?”

It was a kind suggestion, but he knew it wasn’t possible; she would have heard the yelling. Nevertheless, he and Sadie headed down there and found nothing. Returning to the path, they came across Javier who shrugged again as he reaffirmed that no, he hadn’t seen her.

Exhaling a harsh breath, Arthur’s hands returned to his hips as his anxiety grew, gnawing at him incessantly and his gaze dropped—

“Sadie.”

“What?”

“Look.”

She followed his gaze, and hissed out a breath. There was a disturbance in the dirt, like something had been dragged for a short distance. Gritting his teeth, Arthur instantly started moving, following it and heading down the path away from the camp. There were boot prints that might possibly have been Javier’s, but as they continued on, further and further, Arthur knew it was someone else. Sadie was silent as she followed him, keeping her eyes on the trees for her friend and for any foes.

An hour passed. 

With a heavy heart, she gently called his name.

“Arthur.”

“Hm.”

_“Arthur.”_

_“What?”_

He turned sharply to her, and she saw the panic in his eyes.

“Maybe we should head back. She might have returned.”

“Okay.”

She hadn’t, and she didn’t the next day, or the next day, or the next day.

It tore him up inside, feelings resurfacing that he hadn’t felt in years. It was like the wound from Eliza and Isaac had reopened, stretching wider, and he barely had a chance to process them because Dutch had him carrying out tasks nearly every damn day.

Cornwall, Eagle Flies, the Army, the dynamite, Captain Monroe. He barely had time to think.

At night, when there was nothing to distract him, he’d ache with grief as he lay in his bed. He should have made her come with them, shouldn’t have let her out of his sight. When it became too unbearable, he’d take over from whoever was on watch unless Sadie or Abigail sent him away, making him lie down and close his eyes.

Dutch came to him on the fourth day of her disappearance, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and told him firmly that she’d come back or they’d find her, he swore it. They’d tear the land apart.

It sounded too much like empty promises, too much like what he’d said about John... but he’d... he’d believed him. He’d needed to. He’d wanted to. Dutch must have known how much she meant to him, even though they’d never even spoken about their relationship.

And he’d needed to believe in something because... on the third day, he and Sadie had found a Murfree camp, three corpses on the ground. They must have been the ones to take her. People went missing in these parts all the time because of them, and they could have come lurking back to try and reclaim their land and... Ada had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But where was she now? The wounds on the men indicated gunshots, so someone had attacked them, and they must have taken her because she would have found her way back.

Arthur had stared at the ground, trying to find tracks, identifying different boot prints and he followed some, Sadie quietly behind him, and they ended up at a clearing. There were tins and bottles strewn about and an old fire pit and a few horse and boot tracks but nothing else. The horse tracks led to a main path and then... nothing. There were too many other tracks.

He’d stood on the path, feeling like his heart was going to stop at any moment.

“Sadie, I don’t... I don’t know where...”

“It’s okay, Arthur, it’s all right... We’ll find her.” Her hand had gone to his shoulder, resting gently as he kept his back to her, his eyes shining as he’d inhaled deep breaths.

Two long, long weeks went by, weeks in which he felt like his world had crumbled, but he’d barely had a chance to think about it because of all the _shit_ that he’d had to do. When he arrived back at camp after each, long day, he’d immediately look for Sadie, the woman going out every day to the nearby towns for any word on Ada, or just searching the land herself. She found nothing.

And then they’d gone to see Colm O’Driscoll hang... and he’d seen her. 

Finally. Alive. Alive but not safe. Not that he could clarify.

But he’d held her, kissed her, she’d _smiled_ , and then... she’d gone. She’d left him.

He wouldn’t have lied to her; it hurt that she hadn’t come with him. He’d barely had two minutes with her, it was so brief he had to keep reminding himself it actually happened.

But, he’d had to reason with himself, this obviously meant a lot to her, getting her brother back or talked round, whatever she had meant. Besides, if he was anything like his uncle then, like she’d said, he wouldn’t give up. He had to trust her, and he also had to remind himself that he knew where she was, she’d told him where they’d be and he _would_ go to her.

That had been only hours earlier, and despite it all, he only felt a little better.

He didn’t know anything about her brother, absolutely nothing. What kind of a man was she with? Who was she trying to talk round? 

He gazed out across the field towards Fort Wallace where Eagle Flies was being held captive, feeling a weariness so deep in his bones the only thing keeping him going, as always, was her. 

“Hey.”

He turned his head slightly, watching Charles approach. His gaze returned to the fort, his jaw moving. They were waiting for nightfall, a light rain just starting, and the waiting and cold was just adding to his sour mood. Charles joined him at his side, exhaling a long breath as sat against the rock they were using for cover.

He could guess what was on his mind, besides the Chief’s son.

“We’ll find her, Arthur.”

“Hm.”

“If the law had her, we’d know.”

He was worried about the law in regards to a lot of shit they were in, but certainly not when it came to her. He wanted to confide in his friend but it wasn’t his business to tell. It would come from Ada and Ada alone.

He trusted her. Beyond belief. And he held on to that.

But he’d said he’d come for her. And she _was_ a fucking priority.

* * *

Thom didn’t allow them to rest for more than fifteen minutes at a time. He pushed them hard, and the horses, eager to get away from all the chaos that had been caused.

A few more O’Driscolls joined them on their second stop, breathless and telling of how patrols had been sent out and bounties had been issued for any last O’Driscolls that lingered in the state.

They were out of the state barely an hour later. 

She was on his horse when they rode, gripping onto his shirt, silent. He barely said a word to her, either, anything, actually. When they stopped he dismounted and moved away, lighting himself a cigarette or talking to one of his remaining men until he told them all to remount.

They didn’t even stop for the night, just continued on with their short breaks. She was exhausted, her legs and hips stiff, thirsty and hungry as they barely had any food and drink between them, and only Zach offered her a drink from his flask, which held whisky. She accepted it, taking a small sip.

She was barely able to keep her eyes open as the sky darkened and darkened, lack of sleep catching up with her. Her cheek rested against his back, her eyes closing, and then her head would drop and she’d jerk slightly, sitting up straighter as she blinked, desperately wanting to keep her eyes open. She really didn’t want to fall off the horse in her sleep; she wasn’t exactly sure she’d be helped up.

It was hard, though, when Thom eventually let the horses just walk, the motion soothing.

After yet another stop, she just stayed on the horse, her eyes closing. She only realised she’d fallen asleep when her eyes opened again and the horse was moving, except this time Thom was seated behind her and her head was leaning back against his shoulder, his arms keeping her upright. It made her want to cry. She closed her eyes again. 

The next time she awoke, it was to Thom’s voice at her ear, firm but quiet.

“Ada, we’re here... Wake up.”

Inhaling a breath, her head lifted and she wince slightly, her neck stiff. Blinking her eyes open, she licked her lips as gentle rain drops fell on her skin, grateful for the scarf still around her hair. Her clothes felt a little damp, it must have already been raining for awhile, and it was still dark. She could hear a gentle stream, and up ahead was a ranch.

They had arrived.

‘ _Hanging Dog Ranch_ ’ read the faded sign above the archway entrance.

To her right as they entered was a large shed, a well and a farmhouse, ahead was a barn and a collection of tents, and to her left was a stable, and wagons and crates were dotted around everywhere.

Men were already here, it surprised her how many, maybe twenty or so, and they emerged from their tents, the farmhouse and the barn at the arrival of the new group.

At Thom’s light nudge as the horse stopped, Ada lifted her leg over the horse’s neck and slid down, her legs a little unsteady, her once injured one practically aching. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ridden for that long.

The men greeted one another, a rather sombre mood over the ranch, no doubt at their leaders death. They welcomed their new one with handshakes and shaking heads as Thom dismounted, him murmuring to a few of them until Dorian beckoned them away, asking where the hell some food was. Zach lingered by her, naturally.

Finally turning to his sister, Thom barely met her gaze as he jerked his head in the direction of the farmhouse.

“C’mon. There’s a room upstairs you can have.”

She followed him silently, still tired, and she didn’t know what to say. It could wait until tomorrow; now, she just wanted sleep.

The farmhouse was warm, a few pieces of furniture like a couch and some cupboards decorating it, a large rug on the floor. There were bottles and cans and papers strewn about, starting to clutter up the corners. At the back of the room to the left was an open door, showing what was possibly a kitchen area. He led her to some stairs at the back of the large room and up them to a kind of open attic that doubled back on the room, a few bedrolls on the floor, and down it to a small room. As he held the door open for her, she stepped in to find a neatly made bed and chair inside it, a chamber pot under it, and a small window looking out at the front of the ranch. She moved a little further into the room before turning to him, her arms folding.

His hand remained on the door handle as he leaned against it, and he met her gaze.

Neither of them spoke.

She didn’t want to.

She watched him lick his lips as he watched her exhale a breath.

“You probably hate me now.”

She felt truly tired then, her head tilting slightly as she looked at him. “I don’t hate you, Thom—”

“Or pity me, then. Think I’m a blind fool idolising a bad man.”

That silenced her, her throat moving slightly as she swallowed.

Thom shook his head minutely. “You ain’t superior to me, Ada.”

Her mother’s voice in her head told her to correct him to _‘aren’t’_ as she stared at him.

“I didn’t say I was—”

“But you think you are, I know it. Think you’re superior to all of us ‘cause you think you can see what we can’t. We know who we’re following, Addy.”

She didn’t know what unsettled her more; how calm he was or the realisation that he was right.

They all knew the kind of man they were following, Thom, the O’Driscolls, and Arthur and the other men. They all knew.

She raised her shoulders, lingering for a moment before they dropped as she exhaled a breath. “So, this is who you are now. A man who practically kidnaps his sister and murders people.”

His eyebrows raised. “You ain’t murdered people, too?”

“Only people who would do me harm—”

“Likewise.” A corner of his mouth lifted a fraction, humourlessly, as she went silent once more. “But I suppose the people you’ve killed were the bad guys and the ones I have weren’t, ‘cause I’m the bad guy.”

Tears threatened at her eyes as she shook her head. “You’re not bad, Thom.”

He looked at her, silent.

“You don’t know me, Addy, not anymore.” His gaze moved from her to the window, and his throat bobbed. Then, he was stepping out of the room, pulling the door closed with him. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

She stood there, looking at the door and hearing him walk away. Then, her hands flew up to her face, covering it as she inhaled a shuddering breath, almost a faint sob, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Was it weariness? Was it hunger, thirst? Or was it the surging sense of hopelessness that made her weep? She loved her brother, she loved him with all her heart, she’d probably still kill for him but where would it get her?

_Rest._

It would be clearer in the morning. She’d know what to say, and he would listen. He just needed the night to mourn his uncle, and then she would ask, plead, beg him to... to what? Disband the O’Driscolls? Leave them? Not plan his revenge on Dutch van der Linde and anyone who got in his way?

Yes. Yes, she would try, and he would listen. He would.

* * *

Birds sang, calling to one another. It was beautiful, and familiar. For the briefest of seconds as she awoke, she almost thought she was back in Strawberry, back at home, back in her bed.

Opening her eyes, she gazed up at the wooden ceiling, and if she imagined hard enough she could as well have been looking up at her bedroom ceiling. The men laughing and talking reminded her of where she really was.

Exhaling a long breath, she let herself just lie there, different thoughts creeping into her mind.

She couldn’t believe she was so close to Strawberry. Home. Was it home anymore? Had it ever really felt like home? No, she didn’t think so. She wondered if any place had ever felt like home. Perhaps the farmhouse they’d lived in as children, but... it was so tainted now, those memories.

Tainted for both her and her brother, yet they’d handled those memories so differently.

Nevertheless, she knew he would listen to her, hear what she’d have to say and... she had no idea how he would react.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her of how hungry she was, and she pushed herself up, swinging her legs off the bed. Tying her boots up, she adjusted the knife in there; her source of solace.

Rising to her feet, she pushed her curls over her shoulder and yawned softly. The floorboards creaked quietly as she moved to the door, rolling her shoulders. It hadn’t been an uncomfortable nights sleep, in fact she’d been so weary she’d nodded off almost instantly, and the bed had been surprisingly comfortable. Placing her hand on the door handle and pushing down, she hoped someone would have something cooking—

She stilled. She pulled at the door again. It didn’t open.

Placing both hands on the handle, she pulled hard, almost gritting her teeth with the force. It didn’t move.

_Oh, no._

Clearing her throat, she straightened and kept one hand on the handle, the other knocking a couple of times on the door. “Hey. Hello? This door is locked!”

Silence.

She knocked again, harder. “Hello? Hello! Can someone open the door?”

“Can’t do that.” Zach. Of _course_.

She opened her mouth, a demand brewing on her tongue, when another voice came.

“Thom said not to.” Peter. He was alive, then, and he sounded sheepish.

Good.

“Peter, please open the door, I want to speak to him.”

“Ada—”

“ _Now_.”

“Ada, I can’t, he’s... he’s busy.”

“Too busy to speak to his sister?!” She slammed her hands against the door. “Is his busyness keeping this door locked? _Why_ is it locked?”

“You know why,” Zach answered quietly.

She slammed her hands against the door again. “I swear to _God_ if you don’t open this door—”

“You’ll do what.” Zach’s voice wasn’t taunting, but it still pissed her off.

Yet he wasn’t who she had to appeal to.

Licking her lips, she leaned against the door, softening her voice a little. “Peter, I’m hungry. Can’t I just come out for a little while?”

There was silence.

“Please?”

A key slid into the lock. Stepping back swiftly, she stared at it, and then the door was opened and if she just lunged forward then she could—

Zach opened the door, only wide enough for half his body to lean through, there no gap at all. He held a bowl out to her, a spoon half submerged in some kind of stew. She looked at him as he offered it to her, her lips pressed together, not bothering to hide her resentment.

He stretched his arm out wider. She took the bowl without a word and then he was gone, the door closing. With the clicking of the lock, her lower lip trembled slightly before she clenched her jaw.

So, this was to be it. Imprisonment because she wasn’t trusted, because her brother wouldn’t even listen to her.

Staring down at the stew, she swallowed hard before placing it on the bed beside her as she sat down. She really didn’t know him. At all.

No, she couldn’t give up this easily, from getting out of the room, and on him.

She ate slowly, her eyes drifting across the room. The window was just panes of glass, and people would hear if she broke it. So she’d have to take her chance with Zach again. She had her knife, though she really didn’t want to have to use it, as much as he was now pissing her off. But maybe it could work.

Ada approached the door once she was finished. Knocking a few times, she cleared her throat. “I’m done. Can I have some water?”

A few moments later, the key slid in the lock. Stepping back again, she stared at the door. Zach opened it, half his body emerging through it once more, and he held a tin cup of water out to her. Taking a step forward, she took the cup and then handed him her bowl.

As he took it, her arm flung out and she threw the water at his face. In shock, his hand released the door handle as he flinched and she took her opportunity. Her leg shooting out, she struck between his legs. 

It was a dirty tactic but, well... she wasn’t exactly in the mood to fight fair.

He groaned deeply in pain, the bowl dropping from his hand and smashing on the wooden floor, but she was already by his side, shoving past him.

Out on the landing, she just had time to see Peter shoot to his feet, his eyes wide, before she was running for the stairs, passing a couple of men asleep on their bedrolls, stirring at the small commotion. Darting down the stairs, she heard a few men call out from the couch and the floor, rising to their feet, but she ignored them, racing for the door. Slowing, she grabbed the door handle and wrenched the door open, sunlight spilling in and blinding her but she just darted out, pausing only to survey the area, trying to find her brother.

A group of men were sat by the stables, smoking and playing a game of cards, and there he was. Sat amongst them. So this was busy. Striding forward, resisting the urge to clench her fists, she yelled out.

“ _Thom!_ ”

He lifted his head as the men with him paused, some of their mouths opening at the sight of the angry, red headed woman marching towards them.

“I want to talk to yo—”

Arms wrapped around her own, trapping them at her sides, and her waist, lifting her up into the air. Gritting her teeth, she released a deep sound of frustration as Zach, grunting slightly, held her back against him, and started moving backwards. Her legs kicked out but his grip, as always, was too strong.

“ _Thom!_ ”

Meeting her brother’s gaze again as she struggled, she stared at him, her features raging.

And he looked away.

Her lips parting, her brow dipped as she kicked her legs out again, trying to push all her weight down in the hopes Zach’s grip would loosen, and she stared at her brother.

“Thom? _Thom!_ ”

He looked at the table, shuffling his cards, and then he was saying something to a man opposite, and the game hesitantly resumed.

“ _Thom!_ ” she yelled out once more as Zach carried her back through the door, but her brother didn’t look up, keeping his eyes on the table.

Releasing another frustrated sound, she tried to kick at a man close by, who swiftly stepped back, and then, so suddenly it almost winded her, she was set on her feet, spun and then over Zach’s shoulder.

“Just put me _down_ , I’m not a _child!_ ” she yelled, but Zach didn’t say a word, carrying her back up the stairs to the small room. As he took her into it, she met Peter’s gaze; sheepish, upset, sorry.

She glared at him.

Once on her feet, she tried to lunge forward but with a one-handed push to her shoulder from Zach, she was stumbling back, having to swiftly steady herself. By the time she had, he was out of the room and the door was closed, and she was left listening to it lock.

The shards of the bowl crunched and broke underneath her boots, no one either having bothered or had the time to clear it away.

Huffing out a breath, she stepped forward and slammed her fists against the door, needing to release her anger somehow. It felt good, so she did it again, and again, and again.

Nobody told her to stop, not even Peter’s voice came.

Slamming them one final time, she released a long breath, licking her lips.

While it felt good, it achieved nothing. Just left her feeling like she _was_ a child.

Moving to the bed, she kneeled on it and gazed out of the window, looking down at her brother and his men. They were still playing their game, huddled together. It had stopped raining, but she had felt a slight chill in the air when she’d been out there, the cold of the mountains close by drifting down.

She watched her brother, watched him place a card down, and while he was engaged in the game he seemed... tired. His shoulders were sagging, he ran a hand through his hair that looked in desperate need of a comb, and there seemed to be no energy in the game, from any of them, but particularly from him.

Turning, she sat with her back against it, her boots hanging off the side of the bed. He’d have to talk to her sometime, he couldn’t keep her in here forever. And if he tried to, well... She wouldn’t give up.

Arthur had said he’d come for her, but... part of her hoped he wouldn’t, not yet. It was unbearable being away from him but if she had to choose between not being with him and there being the risk of her brother killing him, then she’d choose the former. 

Because she didn’t know what Thom would do when faced with him. She still didn’t know where his loyalties lay, particularly now with Colm dead. What must he be feeling now, being the leader of the O’Driscolls, the little of them that were left? 

She couldn’t stop the shred of pity that rose in her; thought about the shoes he now had to fill, if he even wanted to.

And then she thought about the charges that had been brought against Colm. Was Thom all those things, too? Robber, rapist, abuser, torturer? She knew the last one was true, but as for the others... she didn’t want to think about it.

She really didn’t know him at all.

A small spark of panic erupted in her at that thought. Why had she gone with him? Why had she come all the way out here to reason with a person she didn’t know?

Hope. Blind, unflinching hope.

Some would have praised her for it, others called her a fool.

Ada didn’t know how much time passed. She didn’t care to look at the position of the sun, just sat on the bed and stared at the wall, thinking about what could be done. Zach would be wary now, but he’d have to sleep sometime, and maybe she’d get lucky and Peter would answer the door. She didn’t want to hurt him, it wouldn’t seem fair, but hopefully he’d be more open to reasoning.

She fell asleep at one point, her head leaning back against the window, and she awoke with a stiff neck.

Her fingers were combing through her hair when the knock at the door came. She nearly laughed at the sound of it, like she was the one keeping them out.

“Yes?”

The key slid in the lock and the door opened, and Thom stepped in. She watched him silently as he entered, closing the door behind himself. The key went into his pocket along with his hand as he leaned back against it, and despite how weary he looked she didn’t soften her features.

“You wanted to speak to me?”

She could have thrown something at him, if she had anything that wasn’t a knife to throw.

“Hours ago.”

“It’s not been that long.”

“Hasn’t it? I can’t tell in here.”

“Stop being so dramatic.”

“Stop being so patronising.”

He released a breath as his head tipped back, his eyes on the wall opposite. He was either steeling himself or telling the older sibling in him to calm down and be the bigger person.

Licking his lips, his gaze returned to her. “What do you want.”

Her hands dropped from her hair to her lap. “I want the door to be unlocked. I’d rather Zach watching every little thing that I do, watching me piss, than this.”

“Ada, I know you’re gonna try and run off.”

“And why would I do that?” she snapped pointedly.

His voice in turn was quiet. “’cause you think I’m a monster and you want to run away to your perfect man.”

“He’s not perfect.”

“He isn’t?” His eyebrows rose faintly as he nodded. “S’good you know that. Wouldn’t want your little heart to get broken.”

She had to stop her lip from curling. “It’s been broken more than enough times, most recently by you.”

“And you’ve broken my heart, too.”

She just looked away, shaking her head. They weren’t getting anywhere. Would they?

“How come you’ve got Da’s ring?”

Her gaze shifted back to him. “What?”

He nodded at her hand, shifting his weight to his other foot. “Ma used to wear it on her necklace, would never take it off. How come you’ve got it?”

Ada shrugged. “I asked for it.”

“And she gave it to you?”

“Yes.” She raised her eyebrows slightly, unable to see where this was going. “What, do you want it?”

He was silent for a few moments. “I would’ve got it if I’d stayed.”

“But you didn’t.”

The words came out so quickly, so sharply, that it was like they’d been waiting to be said.

A muscle in his jaw moved minutely. “Do you hate me for that?”

She shook her head as she exhaled a harsh breath. “It doesn’t matter what I think, it happened—”

“Do you hate me for leaving?”

Silence fell again as she looked at him. Could she tell him?

Part of her didn’t want to, wanted to save him any guilt he might feel.

Part of her needed to.

Swallowing, she licked her lips. “I was devastated, when we found that’d you gone. I was sad, and lonely. Ma just... It was like she just stopped living. I had to look after her, I had to cook all the meals, tend to the animals, go into town and buy everything we needed. We barely had any money, with you gone I had to take over your job at the store, hours and hours a day I worked, but I did it because I thought that when you came back, you’d be so proud of me, tell me I did a good job.” Her lips pressed together for a moment as her throat tightened. “But you didn’t come back. And then I wasn’t sad anymore. I was angry. I couldn’t believe you’d done that to us. I did hate you, for a long time.” She swallowed hard. “I was twelve, Thom. I needed my brother.”

His gaze hadn’t moved from her the whole time she’d spoken, his expression hadn’t changed. Then he nodded after a few moments.

“And now?”

And she finally said it. What had been shrouding her heart.

“Disappointed.”

He looked at her, and she thought she saw his jaw move, something shifting in his eyes.

And then his gaze dropped to the floor.

“I should have come for you when I knew you were with them,” he murmured quietly. “I should have come for you.”

Straightening, he turned and his hand went to the handle, opening the door.

“You shouldn’t have left.”

He paused in the doorway. Perhaps it was unfair of her to say it, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. Glancing up, he met her eyes briefly.

“I know.”

And then he was gone, the door closing behind him.

He didn’t lock it.

When she blinked, tears that had formed without her realising dropped down her cheeks, and she swiftly wiped them away.

* * *

With Charles returning the injured but rescued Eagle Flies to the Reservation, Arthur raced back to Beaver Hollow.

Impatience had overtaken him as they’d waited for the darkness to come so they could use the cover to rescue the young man, and he’d had plenty of time to think. It all be damned, he was going to get Ada and get her as soon as he could. 

It was a few hours until sunrise when he returned to camp, and he knew he had to act now with it; everyone was still asleep, except John and Bill who were standing guard. Thankfully it was John at the entrance he arrived at, and he quietly asked where Sadie was.

The day before, after Colm’s hanging, she’d told him she was going to go after the last of the O’Driscolls, and would he join her. He’d said he would, knowing Ada was with them. And now there was no time like the present.

“Sadie,” he murmured to her, shaking her gently, grateful she always slept a little way from the camp.

Luckily, she was also a light sleeper.

“What?” she whispered, already wide awake.

“C’mon, I know where the O’Driscolls are.”

She didn’t need to hear anymore. In minutes they were on their horses and heading out, after a quiet word to John that they would return. Once they were on a main path, Sadie followed his lead, urging her horse into a canter.

“So, not that I’m complainin’, but why the hurry, Morgan?”

He glanced at her, his mouth in a thin line. “Ada’s with them.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“I saw her, when we was in Saint Denis, she’d told me where they’d be. They’re in West Elizabeth, at a place by Little Creek River. And...” She raised her eyebrows as he paused. “... She’s with her brother.”

“God...” He could see her mind racing, before she pressed her lips together and sped into a gallop. “Let’s go and fuckin’ get her.”

* * *

She couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud. It had been sitting in her mind since he’d killed Toby, and now it was out there in the world, alive and biting.

Disappointed. He could’ve called her patronising in return, but it was the overwhelming feeling she felt. And then he’d agreed with her. Agreed with the petty, unhelpful remark she’d made.

Her heart just wanted to shatter.

She’d curled up on her side on the bed after he’d left, even though the door was now unlocked. What was she to do? She didn’t want to go and sit with any of them, she knew Zach would still follow her around so it wasn’t like she could leave.

Did she want to leave?

Yes. But where did that leave them? He was grieving, clearly, but what happened in the next few days? What decisions would he make? What would—

Gunfire erupted from outside.

Shooting up, Ada kneeled by the window, peering out. Men were running for cover and shouting but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. And then she saw her; Sadie Adler, striding under the archway like she was invincible.

And behind her, taking cover away from the shed that was now on fire, was Arthur.

A rush of breath escaped her and then she was off the bed and pulling the door open, darting out. She found the upper floor empty except for Zach, who was staring out of another window but didn’t even glance at her, and heard the men running down to see what was going on. She followed after them, racing down the stairs as more shots were fired. Zach didn’t follow her.

_Don’t kill Arthur, don’t kill Thom, don’t kill Sadie..._

She moved off the stairs and was about to dart across the floor to the door when she paused. Thom was by one of the windows, the panes broken, peering out, a gun in his hand. Striding over to him, she stood on the other side of the window, her back against the wall. He glanced at her before looking out again, and she tried to ignore the gunshots from outside as she looked at him.

“Thom, you have to stay in here.”

“That ain’t gonna happen.”

“She will kill you.”

“Not if we kill them first.”

She stilled as he briefly met her gaze again.

“You don’t mean that.”

“She killed some of our boys and, well... Arthur is Dutch’s boy.”

An icy coldness swept over her as she stared at him, and then he was raising his gun and aiming outside.

“ _No._ ”

Lunging for him, she grabbed his arm and shoved it down, the force of her momentum pushing him back against the cupboard behind him. He grunted, trying to pull his arm away as his other pushed at her shoulder.

“ _Stop_ it, Ada—”

“You’re not gonna kill them!” She was aware she was yelling, but she didn’t care, fear clawing its way up her throat.

Men were crying out outside, and she watched Thom’s gaze dart towards them, trying to see who had been hit, before it would swiftly return to her as they grappled.

“They’re killing my men!”

“They’re not good men!”

“So what am I, Ada, huh?!” The hand on her shoulder was shaking her now and she found they’d both stilled. “What am I?!”

Inhaling harsh breaths, she searched his gaze, his eyes wider.

He was genuinely asking.

“Thom—”

The door crashed open behind them and she spun, Thom’s hand gripping her arm as hers moved back and her hands rested against his torso on instinct, shielding him. Sadie entered and her head whipped to the side, looking at them.

There was something feral in her eyes, blood splattered on her clothes, and she raised her gun.

“No, don’t!” One of Ada’s hands flung out towards her, pausing in the air as her eyes widened. “Sadie, don’t! This is my brother, this is Thom!”

The woman looked at them, and it was like she wasn’t really there. Her gun remained raised.

Ada licked her dry lips quickly. “Sadie, please.”

After the longest moment, Sadie lowered her arm and continued on, silently moving towards the stairs. As she ascended them, Ada grabbed Thom’s arm once more and pulled hard, leading him towards the open door. He followed with little resistance, though the moment they stepped outside he pulled his arm out of her grip and released a hissed breath. She paused, too.

Bodies lay strewn about, the last of the O’Driscolls. Blood was seeping into the dirt, spreading and staining it. She heard Thom move away to a nearby body, crouching down to look at them. She in turn approached a body near her, her shoulders dropping.

Peter lay on his back, his blank eyes open, staring up at the sky. Blood stained his brown shirt, and she inhaled a breath as she tried not to feel any sadness.

But he was so young.

“Sadie?”

That voice.

Spinning, she saw the barn door creak open and Arthur stepped out, a Repeater in his hands. The corners of her mouth lifted as she exhaled a breath of relief.

Then she saw Thom rise from the corner of her eye. And he raised his gun and he strode towards him.

“ _No!_ ”

She was moving instantly, running across the dirt towards them. Arthur froze at seeing her, and then his gaze shifted to her brother, and he instinctively raised his gun.

“ _Don’t!_ ”

It was as if time had slowed and she wasn’t going to get there in time, she wasn’t going to get there in time, she wasn’t going to—

A bullet was fired. She cried out but both men were still standing and then she made it, she halted between them, almost skidding in the dirt...

And faced Thom, her back to Arthur, arms raised.

“Thom, _don’t_.”

Thom came to an abrupt halt, his gun still raised, staring at her.

Her chest was heaving, fear sitting heavily in her ribcage and she swallowed hard.

“ _Please._ ”

His lips were parted, and his fingers shifted on the gun, adjusting his grip. Arthur was silent behind her.

“Thom!”

She and her brother flinched at Dorian’s shout, the man racing out of the farmhouse and away towards a group of horses.

“Thom, c’mon, we gotta go! She’s goin’ crazy in there!”

She watched Thom’s throat bob. Licking his lips, he adjusted his grip on the gun again.

“Come on, Ada.”

She didn’t move, feeling beads of sweat rolling down her back. Her throat was tightening but she swallowed hard.

“Come with us, Thom.”

There was silence as the siblings gazed at one another.

She loved him with all her heart and probably would have killed for him, yes... But how could you bridge a gap that was too wide? They were different people, and too much time had passed.

“ _Thom!_ ” Dorian was on his horse now, the animal snorting as he guided it towards the main path, frantic. “C’mon!”

Thom flinched again at his voice and she saw him take a breath. “Ada, please.”

She saw it, then, the lost little boy he really was.

And she knew she couldn’t help him. Not until he wanted it.

Even as her lower lip trembled, she raised her chin and she lowered her arms.

“I love you, Thom, and I will see you again.”

Ada turned, and she met Arthur’s gaze. His gun was lowered, arm by his side, and a corner of his mouth lifted a little as he gazed at her. She returned the small smile, tears filling her eyes, and she walked towards him.

“ _Thom, come on!_ ”

Her brother didn’t say a word, and she didn’t look back.

She _would_ see him again. She would bring this business to an end. She and Arthur would leave, Sadie, too, John and his family, she didn’t know how, but they would.

Sniffing, her arms went around Arthur’s waist as her cheek pressed against his chest and she closed her eyes. His free arm went around her and she felt his chin rest on top of her head.

Holding her against him tightly, Arthur’s gaze lifted after a few moments to watch his love’s brother. The man, tall, muscular, dark-haired, stared at him. The gun was no longer raised. Arthur just looked at him, neither of their expressions changing. He was almost holding his breath.

Then, the man was turning and striding away, mounting a bay horse and following after the man who’d called to him. He didn’t look back until they were cantering on the main road.

When they were out of sight, Arthur exhaled a breath and shifted his chin so he could press a kiss to the top of her head.

“You okay?” he murmured, and felt her nod.

As she lifted her head, his arm stayed around her and she gave him an, albeit watery, smile.

“You?”

“Yeah.” Rubbing her back, he raised his eyes to the farmhouse. “We better see how Sadie is.”

“Okay.”

They both turned, and, after he shouldered his Repeater, his hand found hers as they moved towards the cabin. They could hear her yelling, and the sound of masculine cries. Men had obviously been hiding in there, maybe in the kitchen. As they entered the building, they could hear a scuffle upstairs, and their hands left each other as they sped up, stepping over two bodies, Arthur taking the lead and raising his gun.

“I told you you’d see me again!” Sadie yelled, and as they reached the top of the stairs, Ada paused.

She watched Sadie, straddling a bruised Zach, plunge a knife into his heart with a savage yell. The man made a strange sound, his body jerking, and then he stilled, his head dropping back onto the wooden floor.

Arthur lowered his gun, and they both watched their friend. She was breathing hard and _covered_ in blood, her shirt and her face stained with it. Pulling the knife out and throwing it aside, she hissed her breaths in and out. Arthur took a few steps closer as she got to her feet, wiping the blood from her sleeves, only serving to smear it more.

“You okay?” Arthur asked gently after a moment, and she nodded.

“Yeah.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she stared at Zach’s body.

As Ada moved onto the landing, Arthur lifted a chair and moved it closer to Sadie, who sat down heavily as she began to speak.

“He was a good man, my Jakey...” She sniffed, and Ada realised in the same moment Arthur did that she was crying quietly.

He patted her shoulder gently as Sadie sniffed again and rubbed her forehead, her voice cracking again. “We was always sweet on one another.”

“I’m sure.” Arthur leaned against the railing as Ada stood by his side, watching her friend with an aching heart.

“I miss him every day, every moment.” She sniffed and swallowed hard, her features hardening a little as she looked between them. “They turned me into a monster.” She then softened. “But my memories of him... they still pure.” Sadie looked to Arthur, her shoulders dropping as she released a breath. “Aside from my Jake, you’re the best man I’ve known, Arthur.”

A soft smile pulled at Ada’s lips as she glanced at him, finding what she expected; him shaking his head slightly.

A corner of his mouth lifted, though, as he raised his eyebrows. “I know the company you keep, the competition ain’t too fierce.”

Sadie released a small laugh as Ada’s smile widened a little more. Wiping at her eyes, Sadie then looked to her.

“It’s good to see you, lady.”

“You, too, Sadie.” Tears were still shining in her eyes, and as she smiled softly at her friend, Sadie nodded; the gratitude and love for each other unspoken.

“We should get away from here,” Arthur murmured as he straightened.

The blonde woman nodded again and cleared her throat as she got to her feet. She then paused, inhaling a steadying breath as she looked to both of them.

“I think I need to be alone for a bit.”

Arthur inclined his head. “I understand.”

“Of course, Sadie,” Ada murmured, reaching out and squeezing her arm gently, not caring that blood wet her fingers. “You know where we’ll be.”

“You, uhm, might wanna get yourself cleaned up.”

They all gave a much needed, quiet laugh as Arthur gestured to Sadie and she looked down at herself.

“Yeah, I reckon so.” Moving to the stairs, she smiled faintly at them. “Thank you. Both of you.”

They watched her head down and out, heard her whistle for her horse. As she rode away, Ada’s gaze met Arthur’s. His hands rested on his belt, a light smile on his lips.

“We better get outta here quick. Just in case anymore turn up, or someone else does.”

She blew out a breath, not even having considered there might still be some O’Driscolls out there. “Yeah.”

He moved to the stairs as he nodded. “I’ll meet you out the front, I’ll see if there’s any food.”

“Okay.” She watched him, and then called out softly, “Arthur.”

“Yeah?” He paused and turned to her on the top step.

Her features softening, she moved closer and her hands rested on his chest and then slid up so she could wrap her arms around his neck. Leaning forward, she kissed him tenderly, and his hands went to her waist, resting there gently. He hummed lowly against her lips, his fingers caressing her.

When she finally broke it, her forehead rested against his, her eyes remaining closed.

“We need to go,” he murmured gently.

“I know.”

Still, it was a moment or two before either of them moved. His hand found hers again, and she took one last look over her shoulder at Zach, before she followed him down.

* * *

Neither of them wanted to travel through the night, both exhausted, though they did head some way away from the ranch. Their search for a place to camp took them to high ground, and they stopped at the top of a hill, a cliff at the back of it providing protection.

After he’d built a fire while she laid out the bedrolls and blankets they’d taken from the ranch and they sat down, the tears had come, and she told him all about her brother, from the moment they’d been reunited, to when the door had been left unlocked. He listened to her silently, and once she was done he wrapped his arms around her, just letting her cry it all out.

Sniffing, her head resting on his shoulder, legs stretched out, a blanket draped over them, she blew out a breath.

“What a mess.”

He hummed quietly, still not quite believing she was there with him again... and what they’d have to return to.

“Couple of things happened while you been gone.”

Wiping at her cheeks, she tilted her head back, looking up at him. “What?”

Arthur shook his head a few times, his fingers idly caressing her. “We got mixed up in some Native business. Have been since before you were taken, actually, but now we’re just even more involved.”

“Why?”

He told her the whole sorry state of affairs, how it started with Dutch suggesting they lend them a hand with getting some horses back and having conversations with army officers because ‘ _save people as need savin’_ , but now it was something else. He told her of how Dutch was now just using them so he could get the distraction they needed so they could leave, how he was filling the Chief’s son with ideas and encouraging him.

Sighing heavily, his thumb brushed over her knuckles. “I have to stop him from leadin’ Eagle Flies too far astray. The boy’s angry enough as it is.”

“It sounds like Dutch has already done more than enough damage,” she murmured gently, and he nodded, releasing another breath.

“Yeah...” He scoffed slightly, shaking his head. “We helped ‘em with somethin’ a few days ago and it was a prank that went badly wrong. Had near enough the whole damn army after us, and Dutch just... He just rode off, didn’t even care about where Eagle Flies was. The kid got captured, Charles and I got him out last night, but... It’s just fuellin’ his anger. I just don’t know what Dutch is thinkin’ anymore, _usin’_ these poor bastards after all they’ve been through. And his father...” Arthur shook his head again. “Rains Fall is so worried about his son, and I don’t blame him, I would be.”

Gazing up at him, Ada’s heart ached at his compassion and his worry. Lacing her fingers with his, the action caught his attention and he looked down at her. Snorting, he arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she murmured, her lips lifting.

“Like I’m... Ah, I don’t know. Like I’m kind or somethin’.”

“You are, Arthur Morgan.”

“Ah, you shut up.”

She laughed softly as he hauled her closer, resting her between his legs. Gazing up at him, her smile lingered.

“We’ll help them, Arthur. And John and his family, we’ll make them all see sense.”

“Yeah, well... Might be easier than we thought with John.” He continued as her brow dipped quizzically. “Some other stuff’s happened, too. Dutch killed Cornwall—”

“ _What?_ ”

“Yeah, we went to go and bargain with him, apparently, and then Dutch just shot ‘im. Seemed like he made the decision right there. Now he says we should go to New York...” Arthur broke off with a sigh, shaking his head. “The Reverend’s gone, and some seem like they want to leave, too, while others... others are more loyal to Dutch than ever. I think John’s seen all this, has probably been seein’ it before I did and he’s... He’s done, Ada.”

She exhaled a breath, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Good. That’s good, Arthur, now we just need to figure out how to get them out.”

He nodded, then raised his eyebrows slightly. “Oh, I sent Strauss away, too.”

“You sent him away? Why?”

“Well, I’d say more kicked ‘im out, but... He kept wantin’ me to go and collect a debt from this feller, feller I was on the way to seein’ when I found you, actually. It all just don’t sit righ’ with me no more. He’s like a leech, takin’ from these people who are desperate.”

“You really are a kind man, Arthur Morgan.”

He snorted again, but didn’t answer. His finger tips brushed against her cheek as he just held her gaze instead. His heart had nearly stopped when he’d seen her, and then her brother had pulled the trigger and for one sickening second as she cried out he thought the bullet had hit her. The relief that flooded through him when he realised it hadn’t had nearly brought him to his knees.

His fingers splayed across her jaw and neck, and the sight of her smile widening made his chest ache.

“What’re you thinking?” she murmured.

The pad of his thumb brushed over her lips and she kissed it gently, instantly.

“Your hair’s gettin’ longer.”

She laughed. “You’re very observant.”

“I stare at you so much I’d notice any change.”

“Do you, now?”

Her lips were inches from his and he claimed them softly, giving her his answer. Her lips moved slowly against his, and he savoured every moment of it, his finger tips resting against her neck.

“I missed you,” he murmured so quietly against her lips he was surprised she heard.

“I missed you, too, Arthur.”

He broke the kiss to look at her, his fingers sliding around to caress the back of her neck. “I mean it, Ada. Think my heart broke.”

She gave a light smile as she swallowed, her hand cupping his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

He was already shaking his head at her expression alone. “Ain’t your fault. You’re back now, that’s all I care about.”

“Me, too.” Her thumb brushed along his cheekbone. “I am sorry, though, Arthur, for... for leaving you in Saint Denis. I just couldn’t...” She exhaled a short breath. “I just needed to know Thom would be okay.”

“It’s okay, it’s all right. I understand.”

And he did. But he held her tight, now, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. He knew they would be separated again, they couldn’t be joined at the hip, but he just held her for now, savouring this time.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

He looked down at her, finding her eyes sparkling with his fire as she shifted, his hands having to drop to her hips as she straddled his lap.

“What’re you doin’, woman, hm?”

Her lips twitched as she cupped his face, and brushed her lips against his.

“Nothing.”

As she kissed him firmly and her hips started to rock against him... Yes, he would savour this time.


	21. Legends of the Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

There was the sound of birds calling again; whistling and cooing. The leaves in the trees rustled gently in the breeze, and, faintly, somewhere in the distance, was the sound of running water.

Ada watched the white, fluffy clouds in the pale blue sky move slowly, her eyes tracing the shapes of them. She could feel the crisp, coolness of the morning air on her cheeks, but she felt warm, the sleeping man behind her providing it.

His arm was around her under the blanket, and she’d lightly laced her fingers with his when she’d woken, not wanting to disturb him. It was peaceful and quiet, and she wished she could capture this moment forever, just bottle it up and preserve it and hold it close to her heart.

When was the last time they’d had this? Must have been when they’d been at the cabin; and how long ago that felt. Well, it was Charlotte’s cabin now. She hoped she was doing okay. Maybe sometime in the future she would be able to check on her. Or maybe Thom would, keeping his word.

She hoped he was okay, too.

Arthur inhaled a long, slow breath, and she knew he was awake, her fingers lacing a little more tightly with his. He shifted slightly, and then she felt his lips brush against her neck before he placed a lingering kiss there. The corners of her mouth rising, her eyes closed for a few moments.

“Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” he rumbled against her ear, his voice rough from sleep.

“You sleep okay?”

“Mhm.”

Her lips rose higher as he pressed another kiss to her skin, not the most talkative of people in the morning, and she shifted carefully, turning onto her back so she could gaze at him. His arm remained around her, fingertips caressing her side, and as she met his gaze, a corner of his mouth lifted.

“You?”

Her smile softened. “Really well.”

“Good.”

Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he lowered his head and kissed her softly, slow and lingering. Her fingertips brushed against his cheek and jaw, gliding down to the back of his neck. When it finally broke, he brushed his nose against hers in such a sleepy and tender manner that she felt her heart swell.

God, she loved him.

“We better get movin’,” he murmured, and she nodded, her fingers tracing along his jaw.

It was inevitable, them returning, but despite his words they were slow moving, taking their time eating their breakfast and gazing out at the trees that stretched on for miles and miles. 

After packing up, they followed the sound of water until they came to a wide creek. Letting their horses graze, Arthur sat on the bank as she kneeled by it and pulled her blouse off. He watched her as she washed her arms, chest and neck with a bar of soap they’d taken from the ranch, lightly soaking her thin cotton corset with a few stray drops of water. His eyes drifted from the trees to her and back, knowing he needed to keep watch but... well, how could he not watch her?

The thin streams of sunlight that filtered through the trees made her hair shine, giving parts of it an almost golden glow. He liked to think it made her freckles sparkle, too, before he wanted to laugh at himself.

Romantic fool.

“What?”

Damn, she’d caught him.

Shrugging, he leaned back on his hands. “Nothin’.”

Her eyebrows rose as she smiled. “You gonna keep staring or are you gonna help me?”

“Gladly, but with what?”

“My hair. It’s _very_ much in need of a wash.”

Pushing himself up, he pulled his jacket off as he arched an eyebrow. “Ah, that’s what I could smell this mornin’.” He chuckled as she splashed water in his direction, her eyes narrowed, and he rolled his sleeves up. “All righ’, all righ’, what do you want me to do?”

“It might be easier if I lean back, then you can just wet my hair and use the soap.”

“All righ’.”

He lowered down onto one knee as she shifted, turning her back to the water, and as she leaned back, he cupped the back of her neck with his left hand, holding her head up. With his right, he gathered water into his palm and gently poured it onto her hair. When it was wet enough, he took the soap from her and lathered it up with his right hand before massaging her hair.

She gave little hums at the sensation and the corners of his mouth lifted. It was a slow process but he didn’t care. They had this time and they would take it. He estimated they’d be back at Beaver Hollow just before sunset, which was fine. There was no point rushing, and Charles would be back there from the Reservation by now, so he and John would be keeping things calm. Hopefully.

“Look at you...” He looked to her at her voice, finding her smiling. “... Big, tough cowboy washing my hair.”

He snorted as he arched an eyebrow. “I ain’t tough ‘round you. You make me all weak.”

She laughed as he ran his fingertips through her hair, getting out the last of the suds and squeezing some water out. “Do I, now?”

“Yeah, but don’t go tellin’ no one. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret, Morgan.”

“You better, I know where you live.” 

She laughed again as he ran his fingers through her hair for the last time before he dropped his hand. “All righ’, you got a towel or somethin’?”

“No, strangely enough that wasn’t something that was in abundance at the ranch.”

Lifting her head out of his hand, she pulled something green out of her skirt pocket as she sat up, and he saw it was a scarf. Scrunching some of the wetness out of her hair with it, she then wrapped it around the crown of her head before tying it under her hair.

She looked at him when she finished, her hands falling into her lap with a smile.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” Rising to his feet, he held a hand out to her with a warm smile, and when she accepted it he helped her up.

Instead of releasing her when she was on her feet, though, his arms went around her waist and he captured her lips just as she opened them to ask what he was doing.

He felt her smile into the kiss, her hands resting on his biceps. He kept kissing her, leaning her backwards until she was gripping onto him and laughing. Pulling her back upright, he then released her, a corner of his mouth higher than the other in a lazy smirk as she shook her head at him, trying to stop her own smile from widening.

“Come on, you fool, we’ve got a journey to make.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He kept his gaze on her as he pulled his sleeves down, watching her tug her blouse on and button it up before tucking it into her skirt. After pulling on a jacket she’d taken from the ranch, she then wrapped the soap back up in a small cloth before moving to the white horse she’d taken.

A sense of clarity came to him, then. So suddenly, so quietly.

Licking his lips, he pulled his jacket on.

“Hey, Ada.”

She glanced at him as she tucked the wrapped soap into the saddlebag. “Yeah?”

He cleared his throat slightly as he adjusted the collar of his jacket before dropping his hands. “When this is all over, would you marry me?”

She stilled. Her eyes darted up to him. He looked at her silently, his heart pounding against his rib cage.

“Would I marry you?”

“Yeah.”

She dropped the flap of her saddlebag, turning her body fully to him as her tongue darted across her lips.

“Would I marry you?”

He cleared his throat again, feeling his face warm as he shrugged, his hands on his belt.

_Ah, hell and shit..._

“Yeah.”

She stared at him. Then she released a breath.

“Of course I would. Yes. Yes, I would.”

His heart stopped. His lips parted as he smiled, it widening and widening at the sight of her own appearing.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

And then she was closing the gap between them and her arms were around his neck, embracing him tightly. His arms instantly went around her as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck, his eyes closing.

“Did you just ask me to marry you?” she murmured almost breathlessly, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t get down on one knee or nothin’—”

She silenced him with a firm kiss, her hand cupping his cheek.

“Suppose I’ll have to wait for a ring,” Ada murmured as she pulled back, keeping her arms around him with a grin.

“I can steal one off the next person we come to, I don’t care...”

He gazed at her with a tender smile as she laughed.

Christ, he loved her.

* * *

They arrived back at camp, as he’d predicted, just before sunset. He led them into camp from the way he’d exited, on the path she’d been taken on, and he either hadn’t taken a break or was back there again because John Marston greeted them.

“Well, look at this!” he called out to them, grinning, and as she remembered she hadn’t seen him in nearly two months, Ada pulled her horse to a halt and slid down from the saddle, striding towards him with a wide smile.

“Look at _you!_ ” she laughed as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. 

It surprised him but he returned it, one arm going around her and squeezing her as he chuckled. “Been some time, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Pulling back, she held him at arms length as his dropped from her, shaking her head as she grinned and surveyed him. “You’re all in one piece, then?”

“Yeah, just about. That new?” He gestured at the faint scar on her forehead, and she nodded, “Fairly.”

“Well, welcome to the club, you almost look like me.”

“Christ, I hope not,” Arthur sighed from behind her, off Ophelia and holding both their horses reins.

Chuckling, John shouldered his rifle as Ada stepped back, taking her horse’s reins. “Glad to see you, too.”

“Everythin’ been all righ’?”

John shrugged, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Been how it always is now. Tense, quiet.”

“Well, quiet’s good.” Arthur placed a hand on her back and was about to guide her up towards the camp when John continued.

“Dutch has, uh... Well, he asked where you was. Said to see him as soon as you got back.”

_Ah, shit._

Dragging his teeth over his lower lip, he nodded. “Okay. Thanks, John.”

“You got it.” Shifting his gaze to Ada, he smiled. “Good to see you, Annie.”

“You, too, John.”

Her smile lingered as they headed up towards the camp. Of course she knew he was okay as Arthur had told her, but actually seeing him felt like such a relief. And with Arthur also telling her the man was ready to leave? It was just a matter of time, now.

Whenever she thought about the little family, she thought of Jack, of how he deserved a different, better life than this, the constant moving and running and violence. What kind of man would he become if they didn’t get him away now?

She thought of Thom. Maybe he was the man who Jack might grow into.

Yes, they had to get them away soon, in a matter of days.

“Annie!”

Lifting her head, Ada’s smile widened as Abigail ran towards her as they entered the camp, grinning.

“Oh, thank God!” the brunette woman cried as she threw her arms around her, hugging her tightly.

“Hello, Abigail,” Ada murmured, closing her eyes for a moment. It felt nice, to be so welcomed and missed.

“How are you? Are you okay?” It was now her turn to be held at arms length as Abigail studied her, a concerned frown on her features.

“I’m fine. Tired, but fine.”

Once she’d finished her study, convinced, Abigail smiled again. “If tired is the worst of it, then I’m glad! You hungry?”

“Yeah, a little—”

“All right, I’ll get you a bowl of whatever Pearson’s cooked up, okay? I’ll come find you!”

And then she was striding away, a true mother. Smiling, Ada glanced up at Arthur as the rest of the gang began to converge on her, displaying their delight at her return. Arthur returned the smile as Mary-Beth enveloped her in the tightest hug she’d ever had, bursting into tears on her shoulder, and then Tilly was hugging her, too, and Jack, and Karen, swaying a little, was clapping her on the back and grinning as Uncle laughed and Charles gave her a warm smile. It was so nice, soothing away her anxieties that Molly’s words had gotten to them.

While they greeted her, Bill, Javier, Susan, Pearson, Micah and their leader were nowhere to be seen. Or maybe they hadn’t bothered to come.

Arthur had spoken of a division forming in the camp and, if this was any indication, she was already beginning to feel it.

Gently extracting herself from the sniffling Mary-Beth and the giggling Jack, she looked between them all with a wide smile.

“I’m so glad you’re back!” Tilly beamed as Mary-Beth nodded fiercely and added, “We thought somethin’ _awful_ had happened to you, I _hate_ this place.”

Karen snorted. “It is so God damn weird here. I’m glad yo—”

“Well, we’re just full of reunions recently, aren’t we.”

They quietened at his voice, and Ada felt herself instantly tensing. As the group stepped aside, some moving back to their tents or whatever they were doing, others half-turning away, Dutch van der Linde approached, his hands by his sides, his eyes on her.

“Hello, Dutch,” she answered, managing a light smile.

“Hello, Annie.” She didn’t like how he pronounced her name; slightly drawn out, light. “Where you been?”

“Murfree’s took me.” They’d agreed on the way back that that would be their story, obviously not wanting to tell anyone about her involvement with the O’Driscolls. “They were lurking close-by, wanting to get their land back. I was taking a watch when they knocked me out. When I woke up I was at a camp of theirs.”

“For two weeks?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly. So he had been keeping track.

“Not at that camp, they moved around a lot.”

Dutch nodded as he stood before her, holding her gaze. “They do anythin’ to you?”

“Nothing physical.”

He nodded again, and then gave her a smile. “How fortunate. And what a relief. Well, I’ll let you get settled back in.”

She returned the smile, a strange sensation prickling across her skin. “Thank you, Dutch.”

His gaze shifted to Arthur after a moment. “You tell me before you leave this camp next time, all right?”

She saw Arthur nod in her peripheral vision. “Sure.”

Dutch glanced at her again, and then he was turning and moving back towards his tent, Micah, Bill and two men she didn’t recognise sat at the table outside it, watching. Looking away, she took her horse’s reins again and moved towards the rest of the horses, Arthur following her, silent.

She relaxed with a smile as she saw Mags, releasing the reins and moving to the tall Hungarian Half-bred, stroking her face.

“Hello, girl. Did you miss me?”

Mags nudged at her chest, snorting quietly. 

“I’d take that as a yes,” Arthur said, loosely wrapping Ophelia’s reins around a pole.

“Good. I missed her, too.” Smiling softly, Ada scratched at her neck gently before she looked to him, lowering her voice. “Who are those two men with Micah?”

He glanced over at them as he started to brush Ophelia down, starting at her neck. “Pals of his, apparently.”

She looked back over at them, licking her lips. One was tall and large, in a dark coat and long hair, the other was small and scrawny in a blue coat and hat that seemed too big for his head.

“C’mon,” Arthur murmured, pulling her attention away. “Let’s get some food.”

His words aptly timed, Abigail found them a few moments later and, hugging her again, Ada thanked her, squeezing her arm gently after she’d passed her a bowl of stew. Abigail left them to it and they went to Arthur’s area, sitting on his bed and eating together quietly.

Her gaze drifted across the camp. Yes, there was definitely a division growing here. People barely spoke to one another, the mood was sour, tense, and it was more noticeable with the girls, especially. Mary-Beth looked like she was constantly on the verge of tears. Tilly, while having been delighted at Ada’s return, now looked expressionless, staring off into space. Karen was drunk, leaning back against a tree, watching everyone but not seeing. And the three of them weren’t sat together.

No one was. Only her and Arthur, and Abigail and Jack in their tent.

Well, except Micah and Bill and their new friends. Though they themselves were quiet, they seemed to unsettle everyone, no one going near Dutch’s tent. Back in the old days, people would wander by, have a chat with him, bring him a drink or some food. Now, there was just an uncomfortable silence.

Sadie returned an hour or so later, cleaned up and in fresh clothes. She brought with her a deer and two turkeys, a good enough cover for where she’d been all this time.

She came and sat with them after giving the animals to Pearson, and they sat quietly, eating and glancing up at Micah’s friends periodically. Arthur had told her on the way back that he’d spoken with Sadie and she was also committed to getting John and his family out, and them. Good. They couldn’t talk about it now, though, not here, it was too risky.

Her gaze returned to Mary-Beth. Maybe they could get some of the others out, too. Dissolve whatever was left of this gang. It seemed to be splitting anyway, why not just help it along? Dutch would still have people loyal to him, and everyone else could live their lives free of running and hiding, hopefully.

“You lookin’ at somethin’, Morgan?”

It wasn’t only her head that turned at the sound of Micah’s voice calling across the camp, breaking the silence.

Arthur shrugged a shoulder beside her as he rose to his feet, stepping towards him. “Just wonderin’ why these two are still here.”

She glanced at the two new men, who remained quiet, then to Dutch as he spoke, sat on a chair outside his tent, Micah stood beside him.

“They’re old pals of Micah’s, Arthur.”

Arthur neared, his shoulders squared. “They’re gettin’ real comfortable.”

“We need guns for what’s comin’,” Micah sighed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He gestured at the scrawny man, and then the tall one. “Cleet and Joe know how to fight.” He cleared his throat as he stared at Arthur, raising his eyebrows. “It’s lucky I bumped into ‘em.”

Everyone was watching now, Sadie sat opposite her, John and Charles at the campfire, everyone else scattered around.

Arthur was shaking his head slowly. “What is goin’ _on_ , Dutch? What is _happenin’_ to us?”

The older man was looking at him, silent.

“What’s happenin’ to _you?_ ” Arthur suddenly demanded, gesturing at him.

“You show him some _respect_ ,” Micah hissed, moving towards him.

Charles and John stood in the same moment she and Sadie did as the two men squared up to each other.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Arthur answered in a low, dangerous tone.

It took her a couple of moments to register the faint thundering of hooves drawing closer came as the sky began to darken. Then came the voice of a young man.

“Mr Van der Linde! Mr Morgan!”

Everyone turned, staring at the main path of the camp as young men came storming down on horses, Native men, some of their faces and chests painted in various patterns. 

“Charles!” The man at the head of the group of about twenty, the leader, was continuing, drawing his horse to a halt, but it stamped it’s feet, turning in circles as the other horses moved, skittish and riled up like their riders. “They tried to kill my people for oil! For _oil!_ Today we ride once more!”

She knew he had to be Eagle Flies.

“Ride with me! Ride with _us!_ Ride with us against the factory!”

Dutch was approaching the group along with his own men, and he was smiling, stretching his arms out. “I love your _courage_ , son! It is a thing of great beauty—”

“ _Stop!_ ”

Ada’s head whipped to the side as an older Native man burst into the camp, pulling his horse to an abrupt stop, swiftly dismounting. 

“Everyone stop!”

Rains Fall.

He looked to his son, swallowing and moving closer. “My son, my last son, _don’t_.” He was out of breath and begging. Silence had descended again, and as she briefly glanced at Dutch, she found his arms folded, smile gone. Rains Fall was stood before Eagle Flies now, his hands raised. “When I was your age, I fought. I saw death. I have killed. The men I knew were slain. My first born, your brother, had his head _smashed_ by a drunk soldier. My wife had her throat slit.” Anger had briefly seeped into his tone, but it vanished, wearily. “We made peace. I knew not to trust, yet I had no choice.” He was pacing slightly before his son, shaking his head. “Maybe you were right. Maybe the slow death is worse than the fast one.” He paused, looking up at his son. “Maybe none of these men are good. Maybe a world in which they came to us, is a world that we cannot endure...” He said the last word fiercely, before it, too, vanished again as he released a breath. “... but endure we must.”

“Father,” Eagle Flies gazed down at him, anger washing over his features, “you are tired—”

“Do not die for pride, my son!” Rains Fall implored, “We have suffered too much in this _trick!_ The earth, the water, they have no pride!”

She felt Charles, who she was now stood beside, shift as Arthur glanced back at him, concerned.

“They endure! And we must endure.” Rains Fall’s voice softened as he begged again, “My only boy, my precious boy... do not mistake my strength for weakness. As your chief, I _implore_ you.”

Ada suddenly realised she was holding her breath as he finished and silence fell. No one moved, all looking to the young man. Dutch was still.

And Eagle Flies gazed down at his father, disgusted. “Your words mean _nothing_ to me, Father.”

“ _Don’t—!_ ”

“Ride with me! Now!” Eagle Flies shouted over his father, his gaze fixed on Dutch, before he was urging his horse on, down the small path beside the camp. The group followed, cheering and whooping as their horses galloped away.

“Stop!” Rains Fall was calling out to them, desperately, in vain. “Please... stop!”

And then he was left there, stood on his own, staring after them. Ada didn’t know him, but she felt tears pricking at her eyes at how hopeless the father looked. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she watched him turn and approach them.

“Please, Mr Morgan!” Arthur stepped closer, and so did Dutch, his hands on his belt, head tilted. “After you helped me, after we spoke...” Rains Fall continued. “... this is just a trap. My son, my people, will all die.”

“You helped this feller, Arthur?” Dutch asked with a frown, looking to him.

“Please,” Rains Fall asked as Arthur answered, “What of it?”

“What else you been doin’ behind Dutch’s back?” Micah hissed.

“What?” Arthur demanded, looking as if he was going to square up to the man again, when Rains Fall spoke.

“The wars are over. We have lost. These young men will be _annihilated_. _Please_.”

Arthur looked to him, and nodded after a moment. “I’ll see what I can do. Charles?”

The other man nodded as he met his gaze, already with him.

Arthur stepped forward, turning to address the group. “Who else will come with me?”

“Oh, I’ll ride, Arthur,” Dutch answered, his jaw moving. “Who knows what other secrets I’ll learn about. Who else?”

As Dutch turned to the group, Arthur turned to her, and he opened his mouth, but she was already talking.

“I’ll stay,” she murmured, her hand resting on his chest gently.

“You sure?” he answered, just as quietly. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll help the girls with stuff. It’ll be like old times,” she said drily.

A corner of his mouth lifted, though it was only a little. Releasing a breath, she slid her arms around his neck and held him tightly. As he returned it, his arms around her lower back, she breathed so only he could hear, “I’ll help Abigail find the money and start to get ready. I’ll make sure nobody suspects us.”

She felt him nod slightly as his grip tightened on her. Then, he released her and pressed a kiss to her cheek with a murmured, “I love you,” before he was striding away, mounting up as Dutch, Bill, Micah, Cleet, Sadie, Charles, Javier and John did the same.

Micah’s friend Joe stayed behind, sat at the table once more, watching. Ada pulled her gaze from him and watched with Abigail as the group headed out of the camp with Dutch calling out, “Let’s ride!”

They left behind them a cloud of dust, yet more silence, and uncertainty. There was a paused moment before people continued on with what they were doing, eerily quiet. She got her first glimpse of Susan since she’d arrived, though the woman just glanced up at her and smiled faintly.

She could see now how rapidly things were falling apart, how events could spiral into a fight at any moment and if Micah or Arthur got their hands on one another...

Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after that, she didn’t know, but sometime in the next few days they would leave. They had to. Her gaze drifted to Rains Fall. He was watching the group, too, his hands by his sides, his shoulders slumped. Moving towards him, she cleared her throat gently.

“Rains Fall?” 

He turned to her after a moment, and she smiled warmly. “It’s lovely to meet you, I’m Annie.”

He nodded, giving a light smile. “Arthur’s partner, yes, hello.”

Well, if that didn’t make her heart swell. “He spoke to you about me?”

“Yes, he did. I’m glad you have come back to him.”

Her features softened, and then she could only think about how much she hoped his son would return to him. Swallowing the lump that had returned to her throat, she gestured towards his horse. “I can ride with you for a while, if you like.”

He shook his head as he patted his horse’s neck, exhaling a breath. “Thank you, but I know the way.”

She watched him mount, her hands clasping together, wringing slightly. Licking her lips, she said gently, “Arthur will do what he can.”

He met her gaze, and she couldn’t read his expression. “I know.” Inclining his head, he turned his horse as she stepped back. “It was nice to meet you, Annie. I hope to see you again.”

Her heart nearly broke as he rode away. Running a hand over her hair, she tucked a few curls behind her ear before she dropped her hand.

_God, I hope he gets his son back._

She couldn’t dwell on that, though, or if Arthur would be okay. She had her own business to attend to. Turning, she found Abigail still stood in the same spot.

“Abigail,” she murmured, checking to make sure no one, especially Joe, was watching before she looked to her. “How about we take a walk?”

Abigail’s brow dipped as she looked at her, searching her gaze, and then she nodded, something in her telling her not to question here. “Sure. Hey, Mary-Beth?”

The younger woman lifted her head, her features sullen. “Yeah?”

“Can you keep an eye on Jack for me? Annie and I are gonna do some laundry down by the river.”

Ada almost smiled; the woman was smart.

“Sure.” Mary-Beth brightened a little at having something nice to do, pushing herself up to her feet and moving over to where Jack was sat outside their tent, a book in his hands, his legs swinging.

“Will you read with me?”

“Of course I will, little man.”

Abigail grabbed a small basket from beside the tent as they passed, and they headed down the thin path to the river, both resisting the urge to glance over their shoulders. Ada hoped that people would just assume they were worried about their men and needed to keep busy, that no one would come to bother them. If anyone _was_ even concerned about them.

Ada gently caught her by the arm when they were a good way down the path, and when she faced her, she kept her voice lowered just in case.

“Abigail, Arthur told me that John said you might know where Dutch is keeping the money.”

The dark-haired woman glanced back up the path before she nodded, swallowing lightly. “Yeah, I think I might.”

“Could you take me to it?”

“Yeah... but why?”

Licking her lips, Ada pressed her hands together for a moment before raising them slightly. “I don’t know how much John has told you, but we’re, me, Arthur and Sadie, we’re gonna get you three out of here. And I think we’re gonna need some money to get you somewhere safe.”

She was searching Ada’s gaze again, her lips parted. “You mean that?”

“I do.”

She swallowed once more, and started to nod. “Good. I... I would be so grateful for any help, I know John has been talkin’ to Arthur, but... Part of me thought it was just talk.”

“Me, too. But it’s not anymore, Abigail. I want out, too, and so does Arthur.”

“He does?” Abigail’s eyebrows had risen and Ada saw a mirror of the emotions she, too, had felt at one point about his decision; delight, relief, and, yes, sadness that it had come to this.

“Yes. And I don’t know when we’re gonna go but I know it’s soon. Very soon. If we can get a little money now, while most of them are away, while _Dutch_ is away, then we can hide it and I can help you get a few things together so we’ll be ready.”

“All right.” Abigail nodded, her chin lifting a little as her shoulders squared. “All right. I’ll take you, c’mon.”

Balancing the basket against her hip, she checked that the path was clear, before she headed up the incline to the right of it, Ada following close behind her. She took her high up it, through the trees and shrubs that covered the hill. The sky was darkening, but the trees made it seem darker, and they had to watch their footing, avoiding holes and exposed tree roots. Ada hadn’t even thought about where Dutch might hide the box of money the gang had collected, but burying it on a hill by the camp seemed a little... archaic. But didn’t that just about sum him up?

“Here.”

Lifting her head, gripping at the trunk of a tree as the incline had steepened, Ada frowned as she followed the direction of Abigail’s finger.

“... _Here?_ ”

* * *

“What else have you been doing behind my back, Arthur?”

“Yeah, Morgan, where you been?” Micah chimed in.

Arthur’s gaze shifted to Dutch as they rode, his jaw clenching.

“I was _tryin’_ to stop this mess from gettin’ any worse. Clearly that didn’t work.”

“Why the hell would they attack the oil fields?” John called from behind him.

“What d’you mean? It’s _perfect_ ,” Dutch answered, a smile to his tone, and Arthur stared at him, his features twisting slightly in anger.

“This was _your_ idea?!”

“Partly... The army, the government, the industrialists, they’ve taken _everything_ from these people. Wouldn’t you wanna fight back?”

“You’ve handed them a d _eath sentence!_ ”

“Just like John, if we hadn’t got him out of that prison,” Sadie piped up, a bitterness to her tone.

“Hey! Show some God damn _respect!_ ” Bill shouted.

“You’ll know when I ain’t showin’ respect, Bill!”

“I had a plan, I _still_ have a plan!” Dutch called over them.

“ _What_ plan? What God damn plan, Dutch?!” John suddenly cut in. “Tahiti?! Timbuktu?!”

“That’s enough! What's _wrong_ with you all?” Javier demanded. “What happened to loyalty?”

“Yeah, what did,” John scoffed.

“ _Thank you_ , Javier, Bill. Right now, it doesn’t matter _how_ we got here. These men need our help. _I_ have a plan... _this_ is the plan. So either stick with me, or cut loose! Because I am _tired_ of this _constant_ dissent, _long_ tired of it! Now _come on!_ ”

Their horses already at a gallop, they urged them on faster, thundering down paths. Arthur just kept his gaze fixed ahead, trying to get ahold of the rage inside him. It shouldn’t have come to this. Like fucking _everything_ recently, it _shouldn’t_ have come to this. He was going to save Eagle Flies, though, he was going to get him out and back to his father and then he was going to make sure Dutch could never get near him ever again.

“Look, up ahead, it’s one of them!” Dutch suddenly called out as a young man on a horse came idling towards them, bent over slightly. “Are you all right, son?”

“Eagle Flies...” the man said breathlessly, pointing back behind him as they slowed their horses. “... He needs help! They all need help...”

“Quick, somebody help him—” Charles started to say but the man shook his head, “No! Go... please, hurry... I’ll be...”

“Come on!” At Dutch’s cry, they were racing towards the oil fields.

Arthur’s heart twisted at what he imagined they might find; a massacre, more unnecessary blood-shed, bodies everywhere. If Eagle Flies was dead...

His eyes shifted to Dutch, staring at the back of his head, wondering what he was thinking. He had no idea anymore. No idea who he was.

Turning his head, he looked to John beside him, and he met his gaze, his lips pressing together.

John seemed to be thinking the exact same thing.

He returned his gaze to the road, and then, in the distance, billowing up into the sky over the trees, was smoke.

It grew as they approached, thickening and darkening into a swirling, incessant mass. They came to a halt at the top of a hill, the trees gone, now before them just plain lands with patches of grass, and the oil fields. The buildings were on fire, and he could smell it from here.

“It’s a massacre,” Charles muttered as he stared down at it through his binoculars.

“We gotta help these men,” Dutch implored as a small group of four, weary, injured men mounted their horses to the left of them.

“Can anyone see Eagle Flies?” Arthur, using his own binoculars to survey the mess, couldn’t see the boy anywhere. He was starting to feel a little frantic when Charles answered, “There, going across the walkway.”

Arthur located him, watched him shoot two men. Gritting his teeth, Arthur lowered the binoculars and tucked them back into his saddlebag, staring at Dutch.

“You got what you wanted, Dutch.”

“You comin’, Arthur?” was all he said.

“I’m gonna try and _save_ _him_ ,” he said, shaking his head as he exhaled a harsh breath. “This fight is unwinnable. If you go and distract them and let me get to him—”

“Have it your way,” Dutch cut in. “The rest of you, ride with me. Let’s meet up at the factory. Let’s ride!”

With one last glance at Arthur, he was then charging down the hill with Bill, Micah, Cleet, John and Javier. 

Arthur looked between those that remained; Charles, Sadie, and now the injured men who had mounted up were with them, looking more hopeful. Pointing after Dutch, Arthur shook his head.

“Go with him, try and help there. I’m better off alone.”

Charles drew his gun as he shook his head. “We’re riding with you.”

Nodding once, Arthur turned his gaze to the burning factory.

“Come on, then. Ha!”

Ophelia burst into a gallop as they rode down together, and Arthur drew his gun, his features set. He was going to save Eagle Flies, no matter what.

* * *

Ada stared at the square-like hole in the rock, peering into the darkness.

“... In the caves?”

Abigail nodded as she set the basket down. “Where better. No one wants to go in there.”

“I certainly don’t.”

“Me, neither.”

Both women looked in it, then at each other. Sighing, Ada nodded.

“All right, let’s go.”

She had to crouch a little to get in, but once she was she could stand at full height, and there was still metres of space above her. Gazing down, there was a winding kind of pathway to the bottom, part rock, part wooden planks. This must have been the Murfree’s escape route; so they were more intelligent than they looked. 

Climbing down a ladder, they then began to descend, Abigail bringing the basket with her, though Ada couldn’t imagine why; she could’ve just left it up there and they would return for it later. They’d have to leave this way anyway, as Abigail had, quite rightly, known that if they entered from the camp, through the huge, main entrance, that people would watch and might ask questions.

It was dark and cool, the only light coming in from the hole in the rock. When they reached the bottom, Ada squinted slightly, her eyes adjusting. There were destroyed wagons and various pieces of furniture dotted about, piled up in some places. Charles had told her about what he and Arthur had found down here and the place still creeped her out.

“This way.”

She followed Abigail around a corner, finding a few, weakly lit lanterns and, which did nothing to soothe her nerves, an open, wooden cage. She was grateful that Abigail was moving quickly.

“Under here...” Abigail stopped before a wagon on its side, chairs and wooden planks piled over it, and crouched, placing the basket down. 

She began to push the detritus aside, Ada dropping to her knees and helping her. They worked as quietly as possible, every small sound echoing in here, and they absolutely did not need it reaching the entrance.

“Here, it’s this...” Pushing a ragged, moth-eaten and probably rat-eaten blanket aside, the red box was revealed. It had once been such a familiar sight in camp, just left by wherever Dutch was sleeping, out in the open. Now it was locked and buried away by a paranoid, bitter man.

“Can you get it open?” she whispered and Abigail side-eyed her, her lips twitching.

“Honey, I don’t think you know who you’re talkin’ to.”

Pulling pins from her hair, Ada then watched as Abigail bent them and slotted them into a lock. It reminded her of the Mayor’s Gala.

_Was that a simpler time? Maybe... Marginally._

It took her no time at all to open it. Sliding the pins back into her hair, she lifted the lid and Ada’s breath caught in her throat as Abigail gasped.

“Holy God...”

She’d never seen so much money in her life. There were so many bills, coin purses, even a _gold bar_... How could Dutch still want more money?

“We can’t take it all, can we?”

Ada exhaled a laugh as she shook her head. “No, I think that’ll be pretty noticeable. We’ll take a few bills. Hopefully Dutch won’t check it before we leave.”

“All right.”

They took just enough so that it wasn’t noticeable, but it was still the most money Ada had ever held in her life. She nearly laughed as Abigail stuffed it into her pockets like it was nothing. Yes, they’d absolutely be able to get somewhere safe with this.

Abigail quietly closed and then used the pins to lock the box before they pushed it back under the blanket and began carefully assembling the pieces back into their place.

“Where are we gonna go?” Abigail murmured after a few moments of silence, continuing as Ada met her gaze. “To get away? John told me that if anythin’ happened he’d meet me at this dam but—”

“What dam?” Ada paused, looking at her. “Owanjila dam?”

Abigail nodded, her brow dipping. “Yeah, why?”

The corners of her mouth lifted a little as she shook her head. “It’s just... That’s where I told my family to go if anything happened, back in Strawberry.”

The other woman smiled gently. “Must be a hell of a safe place, then.” As they continued reconstructing the mess, she cleared her throat. “Y’know... I don’t really know all that much about you and before you were taken you said that—”

“What we got here?”

Both women jumped and turned at the unfamiliar voice, and they found Joe looking at them, huge and imposing. Ada’s lips parted as Abigail stared, and he raised his eyebrows.

Abigail shrugged as she placed a hand on her hip, the other gesturing at the basket. “This is the best place to dry clothes.”

Oh, she was a _very_ smart woman.

He looked between them, expressionless. “I didn’t see you come in. And they look dry to me.”

Abigail scoffed. “Well, _obviously_ you can’t see proper, then.”

“I can see just _fine_.” His face screwed up slightly into a frown. “They’re dry.” 

“No, they’re not.”

“Yeah, they...” He cut himself off with an exasperated breath. Then, he drew his gun, aiming it at Abigail. “What’re you doin’ down here?”

Both women raised their hands as Abigail scoffed again and Ada looked between him and the ground, silent.

“What’re you gonna do with that, huh? You gonna shoot two women for hangin’ some clothes up?”

“I’m gonna shoot two women for _lyin’_.”

“And what’s Dutch gonna say about that, huh?”

“I don’t answer to Dutch, I ans—”

He hadn’t noticed Ada inching closer. Lunging at him, she grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand down as her leg struck between his.

_Is this becoming my new tactic against tall men?_

He started to cry out in pain as he dropped to his knees but her other hand swiftly covered his mouth, muffling it. Relief washed over her as no bullet was fired; part of her had expected him to pull the trigger on instinct when she went for him, and the gun couldn’t go off, it would alert everyone and that was the last thing they needed. Fortunately, though, he’d been too surprised.

Abigail wrestled the gun from him and then stepped back, aiming it at him with both hands wrapped around it. Keeping her hand over his mouth, Ada held his gaze as she kept her voice low.

“There’s gonna be no shooting, okay? We were just hanging clothes up to dry, and while you might not answer to Dutch, I don’t think the people of this camp would appreciate—”

Her legs were suddenly knocked out from under her.

“ _Annie!_ ” Abigail gasped, just managing in time to stop herself from crying out.

Landing on her back with a painful groan, slightly winded, Ada then found Joe on top of her, trying to wrestle her hands away from her body and onto the ground. Gritting her teeth, she tried to push her knees against him but he was much bigger and stronger. 

“ _Get off me_ ,” she hissed, and he shook his head.

“Not until you tell me what you were doin’.”

“ _Hanging laundry up_ , how many times do we have to say it before it gets in your thick skull—”

“Didn’t look like you were to me—”

“Well, you’re stupid.”

They both stilled as Abigail pressed the barrel against his temple. His gaze darted up to her, and then he released Ada, who quickly scrambled out from under him and got to her feet.

Catching her breath, she watched as Abigail stared at him.

“You ain’t gonna tell anyone about this. Otherwise, you’re just gonna embarrass yourself that you got all hot and bothered over two women hanging laundry.”

He pressed his lips together, on his knees. “Well, I don’t think you _were_. Micah says you two aren’t to be trusted.”

“Micah says that about everybody.” Abigail was keeping very calm, and while it was unsurprising coming from Micah, it still rattled Ada a little.

“Did he tell you to watch us?” she asked, her hands going to her waist.

His eyes drifted to her. “Yeah. Says you two would probably get up to somethin’.”

“Did he, now?” Well, that wasn’t good. Briefly meeting Abigail’s gaze, she then—

For a man of his size, Joe could move fast. His hands darting up, he grabbed at the gun and Abigail hissed as she tousled with him, trying to pull it away, and the gun couldn’t go off, it _couldn’t_...

She almost wasn’t thinking as she moved. Surging down, her hand disappeared into her boot, pulled Thom’s knife out, unsheathed it, and then she was lunging forward once more and plunging the knife into his heart. Her other hand flew up as his eyes widened and his lips parted, but her hand covered his mouth as she stared at him, still.

_Please don’t make a sound, please don’t cry out..._

He twitched against her as she kept her grip tight on the knife, barely breathing in case it prompted him to make a noise. Then, his hands were falling from Abigail’s and he was slumping forward. Swiftly wrenching the knife out, she stepped backwards and he fell onto the floor, dead, the women standing over him.

Ada released a breath as she stared down at him. And then she realised what she’d done.

Her eyes widening, she looked up and met Abigail’s own, wide eyes.

“... Oh, shit.”

* * *

“... I got ‘em...”

Arthur turned from searching the cupboard, staring across the office in the factory at Dutch, who was holding a document in his hands, gazing down at it.

“... I got ‘em... I got ‘em...” He was incredulous, almost dazed. “... This is it.” A smile was pulling at his lips as he looked up at Arthur. “... It’s state bonds.”

“How much?” Arthur asked, even as he moved closer, hardly able to believe it himself.

He was still infuriated that Dutch had orchestrated this chaos and bloodshed so they could use it as cover to get in here but... the bonds had actually _been_ here. Maybe, depending on how much there was, Dutch would finally be happy, and they could leave without any kind of an argument.

“It’s a... few thousand dollars worth, maybe more,” Dutch laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh, we are nearly there.”

Arthur took the document from him, inspecting it himself and... Holy shit. He looked up at Dutch with a smile, unable to believe it.

“Arthur, we’re nearly there!” Dutch laughed as he handed the document back to him, and he tucked it into his pocket. “Mr Morgan, let’s go home.”

Arthur’s smile lingered as he followed him out of the office. Yes, it was enough. It was crazy that Dutch still wanted more, but, this was enough. He was happy, therefore they could leave knowing everyone else would be okay.

They moved back across the landing towards the stairs, the place quiet now that they’d dealt with Cornwall’s remaining men. Arthur had found Eagle Flies and he’d been okay, angry still and wanting to be brave and gather the last of his men before they left, but okay. He was with the gang now, waiting outside for them.

Arthur felt relief settle over him. He was going to get the boy home, and then they could leave the gang. Tonight, maybe, even. He almost couldn’t believe it.

As they descended the stairs, Dutch suddenly paused.

“Did you hear that?”

Arthur halted, his brow dipping as he strained to hear. There was only the sound of the horses outside and the machinery in here—

“Gentlemen! We’re here for ya!”

Arthur ducked down against the banister with Dutch as he hissed out a curse at the sight of Agent Milton stepping into the factory with a small group of men.

“Your friend?” Dutch murmured. 

“Get in there. Find them, shoot them!” Milton was ordering, the men scattering, before he exited.

_Doesn’t like gettin’ his hands dirty._

“Come on...”

Following after Dutch, they continued down the stairs quietly, Arthur finding cover behind a wall, Dutch against some machinery.

“Come on, Arthur!” Dutch shouted as he fired at the men, Arthur joining him.

Thankfully it was only a small group, but who knew how many were outside? He had a feeling it was just these, though; if any were outside then their gang would have alerted them. Besides, with Cornwall dead and no longer funding them, this could all be that was currently left of the Pinkertons.

“Cover me!” Dutch shouted, and as he did the older man ran for new cover, heading further along the factory towards the door.

After killing two men, he then followed after Dutch, keeping low.

“We need to go, Arthur!” he heard him calling, and followed his voice.

A man darted out and Arthur quickly shot him, and then Dutch was there, beckoning him over to door.

“We got to get the hell out of here, c’mon!”

He was several feet away, so close—

A bullet sounded and collided with a pipe above Arthur. It burst, spraying hot steam onto his face and he cried out as he stumbled back, his head whipping to the side. In his shock, he stumbled over his own feet and fell to the ground with a grunt, his face tingling uncomfortably. 

“We got one!”

Blinking his eyes open, he looked up to find three men a few feet away, aiming their guns at him.

“A white one!”

He was trying to rub at his eyes, his vision blurred from the steam. Suddenly, one of the men was on top of him, brandishing a knife and bringing it down.

“Dutch...” Arthur called thickly, gripping the man’s arms and trying to push them. “... Dutch! I need help!”

He glanced behind the man, trying to kick him off, and saw Dutch stood there and—

He watched him turn and walk away.

Arthur felt like his heart had stopped. But the man was still trying to bring the knife down even as he was struggling, the tip nearing his heart.

“I need help!” the man hissed himself through gritted teeth, and the two men were coming over—

Two gunshots rang out and Arthur jerked, thinking they were for him, and then another sounded and the man on top of him fell to the side with a cry. Shoving him off, Arthur looked up to find Eagle Flies there with a gun. The younger man smiled and Arthur opened his mouth to speak but then another man was behind him and—

A fourth gunshot rang out. The bullet tore through Eagle Flies’s stomach.

Arthur reacted without thinking. Grabbing at his gun he had dropped, he aimed and shot the man, watching him fall to the ground. Pushing himself up to his feet, he moved towards the boy, breathing hard.

"Ah, you, you silly fool!” he thundered in his grief, hauling him up as he felt his chest tighten. Blood was sliding down the boy’s stomach and his breaths were laboured. “Come on!”

Placing one of Eagle Flies’s arms around him, he then wrapped his own around his waist and helped him walk to the door.

“You saved my life... more than once,” Eagle Flies hissed painfully, “... To give mine for yours... it’s as it should be...”

Kicking the door open, Arthur just hauled him through.

Out on the decking, the gang was still waiting for them, and Arthur met the eyes of Dutch van der Linde as he helped the boy towards the short set of stairs.

“We need to go,” Dutch called, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just...

“You...” Arthur began in a low tone. “... You ran away!”

Charles was suddenly there, taking Eagle Flies from him as Dutch raised his hands.

“I did no such thing! Don’t be a fool.” Dropping his arms, he raised his eyebrows. “They could be back here any minute.”

Arthur stared at him, taking in deep, harsh breaths, and Dutch turned away, smiling as he addressed the group.

“We did it, gentlemen! We got some money...” His gaze returned to Arthur as the younger man moved down the stairs towards him. “... And with the train job, well, we got a whole lot of money.”

Arthur’s gaze was pulled to Eagle Flies as Charles put him on Ophelia, releasing pained groans.

“Come on...” His gaze remained on him as Dutch spoke. “... Everythin’ is comin’ together, Arthur. Exactly as I planned.”

Arthur looked at him. “I’ve got to take the boy to his father.”

Turning, he moved towards Ophelia. 

“As you wish,” Dutch sighed. “Usually is nowadays.”

Arthur’s gaze darted to him, feeling like none of this was real. “Sure.”

Mounting, he heard Dutch address the group again. “C’mon, we gotta get back to camp and prepare. Let’s ride!”

Javier, Bill, Micah and Cleet immediately followed after him. Arthur lifted his head as he gathered the reins and found Charles, John and Sadie looking at him. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

“I’ll stay with you,” Charles answered, mounting his horse.

“And me, of course,” Paytah, Eagle Flies’s friend said, the boy only young himself.

“Me, too,” Sadie began to say but Arthur shook his head, finding he had to swallow hard to clear his thickening throat. “No, get out of here, please, this ain’t gonna be nothin’ nice.”

Without another look back, he kicked Ophelia into a canter, Charles and Paytah following, and Sadie and John were left watching them ride away.

* * *

“Gently, gently...”

“Why? He ain’t gonna feel it...”

“... Well, all right, you’re not wrong there...”

It had felt like a lifetime since they’d started carrying his body. Abigail had moved almost instantly, turning him over, checking his pockets, relieving him of his money, and then she’d grabbed his ankles and said, ‘ _Come on_.’ Ada had just responded, sheathing the knife, tucking it away and then sliding her arms under his. He was heavy, and they’d had to stop every few minutes. Getting him up the walkways to the ladder had nearly ended them.

Her back already hurt from when he’d knocked her off her feet, with just one arm, Abigail had told her on one of their many breaks, and now it was screaming at her.

Several times they thought about just hiding him somewhere in the caves but they both knew it was just too risky. So, carrying and stopping and carrying and stopping it had been.

Ada had gone up the ladder first, one arm wrapped over his chest with her hand gripping at his shoulder as Abigail shoved him up until Ada reached the top and then hauled him up with Abigail pushing his legs. They’d taken their longest break after that, but even then it had only been a couple of minutes. They didn’t know when everyone would return, and they didn’t want to be so long that those in the camp would start asking questions.

They considered taking him to the river and letting the water carry him away but, again, too risky. He could wash up on shore, or someone at the camp could spot him passing by. So, they’d spent the last ten minutes carrying him through the woods, hoping to come across something they could hide him by.

A few times he’d knocked against rocks and trees but, as Abigail had just said, it wasn’t going to matter to him. They eventually found a ditch and dropped him into it, hoping, if anyone from the camp did come across him, it would look like another Murfree incident.

Straightening and placing her hands on her lower back, Ada groaned, rolling her shoulders. Abigail blew out a breath and brushed her hands together.

In silence, they stared down at the dead man.

“All right...” Abigail began. “... Okay... I’m gonna go and get the basket and... pretend this didn’t happen.”

Ada nodded, still trying to catch her breath. “Okay... Hey, wait.”

The other woman turned back to her, raising her eyebrows slightly.

Licking her dry lips, Ada gave her a small smile as she moved towards her. “We got the money now, Abigail. All you have to do is discreetly gather a few things and then you’re ready.”

She nodded as they started to walk together. “Okay. How d’you think it’s gonna happen?”

“Us leaving? Well, I’m hoping it’s just a nice, amicable discussion but...”

“Don’t seem too likely with how things have been goin’?”

“No,” Ada sighed, pressing her lips together. “But... If we have to leave in the middle of the night, then we will.”

“Well, I’m ready for that.”

Ada waited outside of the cave as Abigail went down to get the basket, massaging her lower back again. 

_God, I could do with a lie down._

When Abigail returned, they quickly went down to the river to wet the clothes, and then wandered back into camp, hanging the garments on a line between two trees. No one said anything to them, had probably not even noticed how long they’d been gone.

With a small, secretive smile and a nod to her, Abigail returned to Jack once they were done and took over from Mary-Beth, reading to him. Ada went to Arthur’s area and lay on his bed, exhaling a long breath.

She must have fallen asleep because suddenly there were voices and she knew they’d returned. Pushing herself up, she ducked under one of the blankets and stepped out, her gaze darting between the returners.

Arthur wasn’t amongst them.

It didn’t soothe her that Sadie was striding towards hers.

“Sadie, where’s Arthur?” she demanded before the other woman could open her mouth.

“He’s okay, he’s fine,” she said quickly, smiling faintly. “He’s taken Eagle Flies back to his father. The boy ain’t in good shape.”

Ada felt her stomach drop. “How bad?”

Sadie sighed quietly, shaking her head. “Real bad. Arthur said he’d be back soon, though.”

“Okay.”

“Where the hell’s Joe?”

Her gaze darted to Micah as he tutted and strode past them, heading for the table he’d left his friend at. Licking her lips, Ada nodded towards Arthur’s area.

“You want to come and have a talk?”

Her friend nodded, looking weary. “Yeah, think I will for a while.”

Sadie told her about the fight, how the oil field and factory was now burning. She wasn’t able to enlighten her on how Eagle Flies had been injured, just that Arthur had helped him out of the factory with a hole in his stomach and Arthur was saying something about how Dutch had run away. She’d left soon after, Ada not able to tell her about what she’d been up to, and even if she had, Sadie looked in need of some rest.

Ada remained on her chair, looking towards the main path, waiting for his return. 

It was an hour until dawn when he did.

She’d stayed up, sleeping for a little while at a time but only dozing, really.

She knew the moment she laid eyes on him as he dismounted, looking exhausted, what had happened. Her heart broke as she stood, wrapping her arms around herself as he approached.

“Is he...?” she asked quietly as he sat down heavily on the bed.

Licking his lips, he released a breath. “Eagle Flies is dead.”

“Oh, Arthur...”

She sat next to him and took his hands. His eyes were on the ground, his head shaking slightly.

“He, uh... Got him to Rains Fall and then he... And Dutch... he left me to die.”

She froze, staring at him. “What?”

Arthur swallowed hard and shook his head again. “I was ‘bout to be stabbed and... he just walked away.”

A coldness swept over her as her heart broke again. She didn’t know what to say. He looked devastated, exhausted, resigned, incredulous. She had never seen him like this before.

“... I can’t believe it.”

Arthur inhaled a slow, almost shaking breath. “Sad thing is... I haven’t wanted to, but... I can.”

Tears clouding her vision, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder, her eyes closing.

She hated Dutch. Hated him with all her heart. But she never thought that he would do this to him.

Arthur’s arms slid around her and the tightness with which he held her was enough to have tears falling down her cheeks.

Every last hope and illusion had been shattered.


	22. End of All Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

Her fingers were laced with his, his hand tucked against her chest. Every few moments her thumb would brush against his skin.

She didn’t think he slept at all, only having lied down because she’d gently made him. She’d heard a couple of people moving about only half an hour after he’d arrived, but it not enough movement to keep him from sleeping.

He was awake for other reasons. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through. Yes, she hated Dutch, but she had never imagined he would leave Arthur to die. _Arthur_ , of all people. He hadn’t said a word to her since she’d wrapped her arms around him. She knew he was processing everything he was feeling. Anger, grief, disbelief, exhaustion.

He’d been through so much and had been betrayed by the one person he trusted most. Or had trusted most. His belief in him had been waning; by now she could imagine it was non-existent.

They lay silently for a couple of hours, her eyes occasionally closing, dozing. Her back to him, she didn’t know if he just lay with his eyes open or closed.

Eventually, though, as more people began to rise and move about the camp, his hand gently slid out from hers and settled on her hip, the movement suggesting he wanted to rise himself. She shifted and sat up, tucking a curl behind her ear. He moved and sat beside her, rubbing a hand down his face with the release of a long breath.

Licking her lips, her gaze lifted to him. She thought he’d look exhausted, and he did, but there was something else, too. A resigned hardness. Rising to his feet, he ran a hand through his hair and then his gaze was on hers.

She smiled lightly. He returned it, faintly, and then his hand reached out and he cupped her face gently, his thumb stroking against her cheek. She leaned her head into his touch, her smile widening a little more. His fingers found a curl and drifted down it before his hand dropped from her. Exhaling a long breath again, he turned and headed out of their small area, pushing a blanket aside and ducking out.

Arthur surveyed the camp. Or what remained of it.

The girls wagon was gone, a large space now just left, the horses grazing by it. Had that happened overnight? Or had he simply just not noticed it when he’d returned? Who’d taken it? And why? 

Charles had stayed up at the Reservation to help those there pack up and move on, and most of the camp was by the fire; John, Sadie, Javier, Bill, Micah, his friend, Cleet. Tilly was sat against a tree, talking low but quickly with Karen who was staring off into space. Susan was sat on a chair someway off, looking up at the main path and balancing a rifle on her knees. Abigail and Jack were sat outside their tent, Abigail half-listening to him read, her eyes glancing up every now and then to those at the fire.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for something. What, he didn’t know. They probably didn’t either.

His gaze shifted to Dutch’s tent, and there he was, sat inside it, cleaning one of his guns.

He heard Ada behind him, coming to his side. He felt her hand slip into his, giving it a small squeeze. His gaze turned from Dutch to her. She smiled softly.

He’d find the words at some point, possibly in the next few days, to tell her just how much she meant to him, what an absolute God-send she was. Arthur returned the smile, and then her hand was leaving his and she was moving to the fire. He watched her take a seat beside Sadie, the other woman giving her a smile. They didn’t speak, though; nobody around the fire was.

Arthur looked to Dutch. He was still cleaning his gun, inspecting it every few moments. It took him a second to realise he was moving towards the tent.

Dutch glanced up at the sound of someone approaching. “Well, at least you ain’t run off.”

“What you talkin’ about?” Arthur answered, his voice sounding tired to his own ears as he slowed, stopping just before the small platform.

“Pearson left. And old Uncle” His tone was light, but a muscle in his jaw twitched slightly. “The traitors. Both gone, at dawn. They said to young Tilly they were runnin’ to save themselves. I think Mary-Beth left as well.”

Though he hadn’t been able to say goodbye, especially to Mary-Beth, Arthur just felt relief. Good. That was some people out and away, then.

“So it goes,” was all he said, shaking his head slightly.

“They are God damn cowards, Arthur.” Dutch rose out of his seat, holstering his gun as he moved towards the younger man. “ _Cowards_. Of all the time we spent, to run off—”

“Well, I guess they don’t wanna _die_ , Dutch.” His voice has risen slightly, surprising himself, but he’d just had enough. How could Dutch not see what was going to come if they didn’t stop this? If people didn’t leave?

“Ain’t nobody gonna...” Trailing off, his own voice having risen, Dutch glanced at the group at the fire, a few people looking over, and gripped Arthur’s arm, stepping off the platform and steering him away to the side of the tent. “This is a tough time,” he continued, his voice lowered slightly, “but we, our community, we _will_ survive. They _will not_ crush us.”

“I hope so,” Arthur cut in before he could continue on, his gaze fixed on him. “But...” He paused for a moment, glancing at the camp before he returned his gaze to Dutch, gesturing at them. “If we let Jack, and the women free, well, then maybe we can—”

“There ain’t no freedom,” Dutch spoke over him, an edge to his tone, “for no one in this country no more, Arthur.” His voice quietened a little as he raised a hand, his fingers curling into a light fist. “One more big score, we got enough money to leave. All this turmoil has the army and Pinkertons spinnin’.” Both hands raised as he gestured now. “We take a boat and slip away—”

Arthur was shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re sayin’, Dutch, but it seems like I’ve heard it all before.” He didn’t mean for his tone to be so sharp but he was just so tired of keeping a handle on his frustration.

“Just one more train—”

“And there’s _always_ a God damn train,” Arthur snapped before he looked away, scratching his jaw and exhaling a harsh breath.

“Arthur, this is _different_ ,” Dutch implored, his tone light once more, seemingly unfazed by the outburst. “We _know_ this is full of cash. Army payroll. Money and supplies to repair the bridge that you and John blew.” His tone was now soft, reassuring. “This is all going to plan.”

Arthur looked from the camp to him, his mouth in a thin line.

Dutch continued, holding his gaze. “We rob Uncle Sam, and we leave.” He chuckled. “The poetry of it all.” Smiling lightly, he inclined his head. “What d’you think?”

“It sounds wonderful.” And it did. Two weeks ago, hell, maybe even last week he would have been intrigued and up for it, the chance to rob the army, the chance for one last score... but now? He was tired, _truly_ tired, of it all. His gaze drifted back to the others.

... But if it did go to plan, if Dutch got what he wanted, then it _had_ to be the last one. It _would_ be. And then he would leave with Ada... After this. After this last score.

Because Arthur had to go. He had to go and see that it all went to plan, and then his conscience would be clear and he could leave with every fibre of his being knowing he didn’t abandon them, but he made sure they could survive on, whoever stayed... yet, those he knew wouldn’t...

Clearing his throat, he returned his gaze to Dutch. “Hell, some of us ain’t got much to lose, but...” He gestured at the camp again, lowering his voice a little. “... You know, the women and Jack, a-and John a-and his family...” He suddenly realised he was nervous, not knowing at all how Dutch would react to this but he continued on anyway, glancing from him to the camp. “... I’m afraid I have to insist...”

His eyes on the camp, still continuing, he didn’t see Dutch’s head slowly turn to him, his eyes gliding to fix on him.

“... I mean, we gotta let ‘em go, ‘cause if the Pinkertons come through again...” His eyes were back on Dutch, meeting his gaze instantly as his voice lowered, “... They will kill everyone.”

Dutch shook his head slightly, a corner of his mouth lifting. “John? Insist?”

Arthur swallowed lightly, his mouth dry, before he nodded. “Yeah. Insist.”

There was silence.

Then, Dutch smiled, his tone light. “Of course, pal. Whatever you think is best.” He exhaled the faintest of laughs as he raised his hands, before one settled on Arthur’s shoulder. “I will see to it. Now, we gonna rob a train?”

Despite his words, despite the promise, Arthur felt... uneasy. But that was probably just because he hadn’t known the outcome of his request, anxiety lingering, maybe. 

He nodded, licking his dry lips. “Sure.”

Dutch nodded, and his hand dropped as he started walking to the fire, Arthur following.

“We will survive. We will flourish,” Dutch assured him, and then he was raising his voice as he addressed the group. “We have work to do, my friends, let’s go.” All their heads turned, perking up at finally something to do. Dutch passed by them, heading for the horses. “Come on, we are gonna borrow a little money, from Old Uncle Sam, and be out of his hair once and for all.” 

The group got to their feet, as did Ada, and as Dutch passed her she heard him mumbling to himself, almost incredulously “... he insists upon it... _Insists_...”

Moving towards Mags, before she could think on who the hell he was talking about she felt Arthur’s hand settle gently on the small of her back, making her stop. As the others collected their guns and headed to their horses, she turned to him and smiled softly.

He only faintly returned it. “I want you to stay here.”

Her brow dipped and her mouth opened, but before she could speak he continued, keeping his voice quiet, “Dutch said he would let the women leave and John and his family, but... I-I don’t think he will. I don’t know. Just, get everyone you think will to leave, now, while we’re gone.”

Her gaze searched his as she licked her lips. “That won’t be easy, Arthur.”

“I know. Just... Get Abigail and Jack ready. After this, they’re goin’. Us, too.”

_Today. It's going to be today._

Her hand settled on his chest as she murmured, “Arthur, you don’t have to go, we can leave now—”

“I do, I...” He shook his head, releasing a breath. “I just have to make sure it goes okay.”

“Okay.” Her heart ached; she could understand that. 

“Let’s ride out, gentlemen,” Dutch called, and she could hear the horses moving behind her. 

Glancing over her shoulder, Arthur then looked back to her. “Do what you can, okay? I don’t think we’re gonna be long.”

“Okay. Be safe, please.” Cupping his face, she gave him the firmest, briefest of kisses before she released him, knowing he had to leave quickly.

His finger tips brushed against her cheek, and then he was striding away. She watched him mount Ophelia, the others already nearly out of sight, the only person who’d waited for him Sadie. She nodded at Ada, who returned it with a light smile.

_We’re all going to leave today._

Watching them ride off, she realised her heart was pounding.

_This is it._

Licking her lips, her eyes drifted across the camp. The only ones remaining were herself, Abigail, Jack, Tilly, Karen and Susan. She knew Abigail had already packed and would be able to leave at a moments notice, so her attention would now just have to go to the others. Just. She nearly made herself laugh.

Sadie had quietly murmured to her around the fire that Mary-Beth, Pearson and Uncle had left. That’s probably who she’d heard moving about. Maybe with the girl’s departure, Karen and Tilly might be more inclined to do the same; if gentle Mary-Beth could leave then so could they. She wasn’t as apprehensive about talking with them, anyway. It was Susan who she was dreading.

Her gaze shifting to the woman, still sat on her chair, rifle in her hands, she squared her shoulders.

_Right. Here we go._

* * *

He thought it’d be bittersweet, the last ride with his gang, but he just felt tired. 

Of course, it was, in a way, but only because of how things had once been. He knew at some point he’d reflect on all the times they’d shared with sadness and, yes, happiness, but right now the memories were soured, tainted, by how and why it was all coming to an end. He’d never thought much about how it would all end; when he was younger he’d had this romantic notion of having one last stand, going out in a blaze of glory fighting the good fight, the kind of storybook ending that would make Isaac proud of his father. When he’d died and he’d grieved and then he’d met Mary that had changed and he’d imagined getting one last, huge score so he would have enough money to take care of her, enough to show her father he was good enough for her. When he’d realised they could never work, he’d just... he hadn’t cared. If it was in a quiet alley way or during a job, it didn’t matter to him.

And then he’d met Ada. As his love for her had grown, so had his appreciation for life. He wanted a good one, wanted to experience all that a decent man could, live it peacefully and right. When he was to die, he wanted to go knowing the people he loved were safe and happy, and that he’d done all that he could for them.

So yes, he’d see this last job through, see that it went right, and if there was any sign that it was going south he’d get John away.

“Okay, let’s pick up the pace, train is due in Saint Denis in an hour!” Dutch called from the head of the formation. Arthur glanced at John beside him, the two men behind the older man.

_Christ._

“We’re robbing a train in the middle of a city?”

“ _No_ , it’s going to stop there, take on mail and water, let off some boys heading home on leave and then it heads out.” Irritation saturated Dutch’s tone.

“They know the bridge is gone, cowpoke,” Micah chimed in from behind him, “There’ll be a patrol past Annesburg, waitin’ down by the river to collect the money.”

Dutch continued for him, “We sneak on quietly and then we got a short time to stop the train before it reaches the patrol.”

Arthur was past making comments about he and Micah making plans together, but the youth in him felt a flash of jealously at their closeness, no, at Dutch having lain in trust in someone else over him.

“John, you go get that dynamite, we’ll meet back up outside Saint Denis,” Dutch added, and Arthur lifted his head.

“I’ll go with him.”

“As you wish.”

Arthur didn’t have time to dwell on his nonchalant tone, John turning off the path and calling him to follow. He scanned the trees and path as they rode, anxiety curling in his chest. Nothing could happen to John.

“I hid the wagon down this way after we blew the bridge,” John said, pulling him from his thoughts. 

He exhaled a breath, shaking his head slightly. “This is one big God damn group of us to be ridin’ back into Saint Denis.”

“Yeah, and I heard the Pinkertons have pretty much taken over Van Horn, moved a whole heap of men in there. Things are closin’ in fast.”

“Shit.” 

Maybe the Pinkertons weren’t so underfunded, then. No, he couldn’t dwell on that. They’d just go far away, away from all this where the Pinkertons couldn’t find them.

“Should be just through these trees...”

They slowed their horses as they rode across an incline, ducking to avoid a few branches.

“There it is.” John drew his horse to a halt and looked over at him. “I’ll get the dynamite.”

“No, I can do it.”

“All right.”

He was grateful John didn’t question him and his cautiousness, because he wouldn’t be able to provide a reason why, only that he couldn’t risk anything happening to him.

Dismounting Ophelia, he approached the wagon and climbed in, opening a box on the floor. He took out a bundle and tucked it into his satchel as he jumped down from the wagon and returned to Ophelia.

“All right, let’s get this done,” John sighed, “No point puttin’ this off any longer.”

As they urged their horses into canters, heading for the city of Saint Denis, John sighed again and looked over at him.

“So, listen... Abigail just told me... She and Annie got some of the money, they found it, but there’s more, much more. It’s hidden in the caves at Beaver Hollow.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” John chuckled humourlessly. “So much for never hiding it near camp. Dutch was gettin’ even sloppier than we thought.”

_So much indeed._

“Are Abigail and Jack ready to leave?”

“I think so.”

“Okay.” Arthur felt some small sense of relief, but it was only a little. “Whatever happens with this job today, wherever Dutch and them go next... we’re gettin’ you the hell outta here. We’re gonna get you this money, and... Knowin’ the three of you got out safe and okay, well... Maybe all this’ll still mean somethin’.”

“What about you and Annie?”

A small smile pulled at Arthur’s lips. “Yeah, us, too. And Tilly and Sadie, Susan and Karen. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

John shook his head slightly, and Arthur met his gaze. “You’ve always had my back, Arthur.”

A corner of his mouth lifted a little higher, ruefully. “Perhaps not always.”

They held each others gaze for a few moments, both men thinking of when John left, when they argued when they were younger, when they’d fight. How far they’d come. John looked away, staring at the path ahead.

“Well... Here we go, Arthur. One last train.”

He exhaled a breath as his jaw moved and his chin lifted. “Yeah... one last train.”

* * *

“What the _hell_ are you talkin’ about?”

She’d decided on a direct approach with the older woman and... it already wasn’t going well.

“Susan, I just think that it’s time to move on—”

“ _What?_ ”

“Things aren’t good here, Susan, I think you can see that and—”

“And what about loyalty, Annie?” she snapped, practically snarling.

Ada released a breath, raising her hands slightly. “This is finished and you know it. Get out while you still can.”

“I ain’t leavin’ Dutch.” Her fierce gaze turned on the other women sat close by, all three of them having obviously been listening. “Any of you that do are _traitors_. Ungrateful _cowards_.”

Ada didn’t exactly feel dejected as she watched her walk away, taking up her post on the main path again. She hadn’t expected her to go but she did feel pity for her, pining after and hoping for a man who barely even looked at her these days. Licking her lips, she turned to the next, closest woman, who was sat against a tree, legs stretched out, bottle of whisky in her hand, and crouched before her.

“Karen—”

“Where will I go, Annie?” the blonde woman sighed wearily, already pre-empting her speech.

Gazing at her, Ada then pushed a hand into her skirt pocket and withdrew a few bills she’d taken from the box yesterday. Holding them out to her, she smiled softly. 

“Anywhere. Go north. You get work in a city, good work, and you live an exciting life.”

Karen looked at the bills, then at her. Ada could see tears shining in her eyes.

“I-I don’t think I can do it on my own.”

Her features softened as she took her hand and placed the bills in her palm. “Yes, you can. You’re stronger than you think. You _can_ do it.”

Karen gazed down at the money, biting at her lower lip. After a few moments, her fingers curled around the bills, and she lifted her head to meet Ada’s gaze, and she watched her steel herself.

“All righ’. Okay.”

Ada rose to her feet as the other woman did the same, sniffing and pushing the bills into her pocket. Meeting her gaze again, Karen smiled a little lopsidedly, her eyes looking a little brighter than they had in weeks. 

“Goodbye, Annie. You was always too good for us.”

Exhaling a laugh, Ada embraced her and rubbed her back. “And you were always too good for this place, Karen.”

The other woman snorted, squeezing her tightly before releasing her. “Now I don’t know ‘bout that, but that’s nice of ya to say.” Nodding at her, Karen then smiled again.

Returning it, Ada patted her hand. “Be well.”

“Thanks. You, too, woman.”

She watched her head over to her pile of belongings, all her jackets and skirts crumpled together. As she started to stuff them into a bag, Ada turned, her gaze landing on Tilly by the fire. As she approached, the woman lifted her head and raised her eyebrows slightly.

“I ain’t got anywhere to go either...” she said before Ada could say a word, but then she smiled lightly, shrugging her shoulders. “I did like Saint Denis, though.”

Ada’s smile widened, her heart pounding with relief. “Good.”

Tilly inhaled a breath, her gaze drifting over to Karen and then back to Ada. “Think I’m gonna... stay just a little bit longer, though. Wait for them to get back. I want to say some goodbyes before I go.”

“I understand.” Looking over at Abigail, sat with Jack outside their tent, her gaze fixed on the ground while Jack read, she then returned her attention to Tilly. “Will you keep an eye on Jack for a little while? I want to have a talk with Abigail.”

Tilly’s smile grew. “Of course. Think I’m gonna miss him the most.”

Her heart started to ache, then, as she moved towards John’s family. She’d been so concerned with getting away, moving on, that she hadn’t really thought about what would happen afterwards. She might never see some of these people ever again. In some cases, good riddance, but in others... Not seeing the women, especially, would be hard. They’d been the first to really welcome her and make her feel at ease in this gang, and she cherished that more than she could possibly say. Bar Susan, they’d all always had time for her, had always been grateful for her help and had been ready to laugh and talk with her. Growing up, she’d had no close female friends, even when she’d moved to Strawberry, no close friends at all, really, and this was the closest she’d got. Maybe they would see each other again, though, when the dust had settled and some time had passed. She’d like that very much.

Inhaling a breath, she met Abigail’s gaze as the woman’s head lifted at hearing someone approach.

“Will you walk with me?” she asked, smiling lightly.

Abigail nodded, unwrapping her arms from around her legs. “Sure.”

She kissed her son’s head, the boy not even looking up from his book, and got to her feet, brushing her skirt down. They wandered towards the edge of the camp and down the path they’d last had a conversation on until Ada came to a halt halfway down it. 

“This is it, Abigail,” she murmured. “Whatever happens, Arthur says this is it, we’re leaving when they get back.”

The brunette smiled, releasing a breath of relief even as she raised her chin a little. “All right. I got our things packed, I’m ready.”

“Good. I’m not entirely sure where we’re going to go yet but it’ll be far away.”

“Good, great, I don’t care where we go as long as it _is_ far from here.” Abigail’s smile had widened and Ada could practically feel how elated she was. She wondered just how long she’d wanted to get away, how long she’d probably kept these thoughts to herself, too afraid to say anything, but desperately hoping for a better life for her boy.

“D’you think we should take some more money?”

Ada raised her eyebrows as her own smile grew. “More, Abigail Roberts? I absolutely think so.”

Laughing, the two women carried on down the path.

“Hey, maybe John and I could get our own ranch with this money, I’ve always wanted one.”

“That’d be nice.” Abigail’s hope and joy was infectious, Ada’s smile lingering. “I can just see John herding cattle.”

She snorted. “That man has never done farm work in his life. He’ll have a lot of learnin’ to do.” As Ada chuckled, Abigail nudged her with her elbow. “What about you and Arthur? What do you wanna do?”

Ada blew out a breath as she raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking so hard about getting away, I haven’t really thought about where we’re actually going to go _to_.” A gentle smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I’d like my own place, too, though. Maybe not a ranch, exactly, but just a place to call home. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually asked Arthur what he—”

Abigail cried out but before she could look at her, some kind of canvas sack was thrown over her head, plunging her into darkness. As Abigail screamed and yelled insults, Ada tried to grab at the bag, unable to see a thing, and tried to struggle but someone was gripping her arms, and she tried to kick her legs out, the people holding her trying to get her to move and then Abigail cried out again and went silent and she was about to call out to her when something blunt collided with the back of her head.

* * *

It had nearly been a disaster. The train hadn’t stopped in Saint Denis. It hadn’t _fucking_ stopped. They had just all stood there like gormless idiots, staring at it passing by, until Dutch yelled at them to mount up and then they were galloping after it.

He couldn’t believe they were still going through with it. He had been seconds from turning away but John had mounted up and gone after it and, well, then so had he. He couldn’t leave him.

It had gone as well as expected after that. 

Meaning they’d shot their way through the carriages, he and John boarding from the back, Sadie and Cleet the middle. 

So much for sneaking on. And he hadn’t see Micah or Dutch anywhere.

“Just like the old days, huh?” John had shouted from behind him over the sound of gunfire at one point.

“This don’t feel nothin’ like the old days,” Arthur had called back, just aiming and firing, aiming and firing as they moved from carriage to carriage.

And then a carriage caught fire.

His teeth gritted as he stared at it, gripping his gun.

“Come on, we can’t get through the smoke!” John yelled, looking to jump off the moving train when suddenly, finally, Micah, Dutch and the others caught up, riding beside the train.

“Come on!” Dutch called to them, and Arthur leapt, jumping onto the back of his horse, John jumping onto Bill’s.

They rode up to the next carriage and Dutch and Bill stayed level with it as Arthur and John jumped from their horses and back onto the train.

As he pushed himself up to his feet, having landed with a roll, Arthur pointed at the burning carriage.

“Uncouple that carriage, before it blows us all up!”

“I’m on it!” John raced past him, and Arthur inspected the Gatling gun stand next to him, the box of additional components beside it, and if maybe they—

“The train’s being robbed!”

His gaze darting about at the unfamiliar shout, he then looked up to the top of a hill they were passing, and a man stood on it, yelling over his shoulder at someone he couldn’t see.

_Shit. Had to be the patrol._

“Man the gun, Arthur!” John shouted, and he moved immediately, fitting the pieces onto the stand.

Christ, more men would be coming soon and then there’d be more bloodshed, more noise around them, a higher price on their heads...

He heard a grating sound and looked up, watching John straighten as the train was detached and the burning carriage and the rest of the train slowed and fell back. 

“Well done,” Arthur called to him as he made sure the gun was stable.

John met his gaze and grinned, opened his mouth to say something, and then the burning carriage exploded and jerked off the rails with the movement.

He and John ducked instinctively, and then John was yelling, “Get on!”

Arthur looked over his shoulder to find Bill jumping on, landing hard on the train with a grunt and a curse. Shaking his head, Arthur looked up at John and—

A shot rang out and a bullet tore through John’s shoulder. The man grunted, and fell back off the train.

“ _John!_ ” Arthur yelled, lunging for the side, when another shot rang out and he ducked.

The sound having come from behind him, he turned and stood on the roof of the next carriage was a man, his gun raised.

He, Sadie, Cleet and Bill all aimed at him, but Arthur was quicker. His bullet found his heart and the man fell from the roof without a sound.

Arthur’s head whipped to the side, trying to locate where John was when Dutch shouted from his horse by the side of the train, “I’ll get John! You protect that money!”

As he peeled away from the group, Micah and Javier moving up the nearby hill with him, Arthur’s heart pounding, Bill yelled, “Man that gun, Arthur! I’ll go stop the train!”

“Stop the train? Whatever you do, do _not_ stop the train!” Arthur shouted, making him halt. “You secure up ahead, but keep us movin’! I’ll deal with that patrol when they come through!”

Sadie and Cleet went with Bill, leaving Arthur alone, his breaths shorter. John couldn’t be dead. He’d be fine. He’d be okay. He _had_ to be.

Loading the Gatling, he crouched slightly and aimed at the trees, hearing horses approaching. 

“Shit, we got a lot of riders on our tail, Arthur!” Sadie called from behind him, making him jump slightly.

Glancing at her, he found her and Cleet ducking behind some crates for cover. So they’d actually stayed. His gaze swiftly returned to the trees and there they were.

“I see ‘em!” he answered, and then he was firing.

The track curved and the train passed over a lake, the riders cantering through it, undeterred. There were men on both sides, Cleet and Sadie calling out ‘ _Left!’_ , ‘ _To your right!_ ’ to him every few moments. He swung the gun around, firing at anyone he saw approaching.

There were so _many_ of them, more than he would have anticipated for a patrol. This was an army train, though, but... It just didn’t feel right. It was like they’d been expecting them.

Sadie and Cleet were yelling at each other behind him, telling the other to shoot properly, but he just drowned it out, aiming and firing, aiming and firing. They passed over a bridge and the men fell back suddenly, the track high on a hill and narrow.

“Okay, get off the gun, we need to go for the money!” Cleet ordered, “Come on, it should be in the front carriage!”

Stepping away from the Gatling, Arthur followed behind him and Sadie, climbing onto the roof of the next carriage. When they dropped down onto the next one, Sadie ran ahead and pointed at the armoured carriage.

“Okay, quick, let’s blow a hole in it! The money’s in there!”

Removing the dynamite from his satchel, Arthur secured it to the door of the carriage, lit it and then stepped back, crouching behind some crates as did Cleet and Sadie.

A few moments later, the door exploded, metal flying away. Rising, Arthur strode towards it and ducked through the gap created. Entering the carriage, he found sacks and boxes on shelves, his gaze darting about. Some of the sacks had US ARMY PAYROLL stamped across them.

_Holy shit..._

Grabbing at a sack, he heard and felt the coins clinking inside.

“We got somethin’...” he murmured, before looking back through the gap and calling through to the other two, “We got somethin’!”

They grinned as he tossed sacks to them, Cleet whooping.

“Wait, there’s more!” Arthur called, continuing to toss them through, some sacks bigger than others.

It was here. It was _actually_ here. This was it. Even just half a sack would be enough for John and his family, it was going—

“Morgan!” Bill was suddenly peering through the gap. “The driver’s dead! This thing ain’t stoppin’, we gotta get off! We’re about to go over the bridge!”

“Okay, then, let’s go!” Sadie hissed, grabbing a handful of the smaller sacks.

Arthur, Cleet and Bill grabbed the larger ones, carrying them under their arms, and then they tossed them over the side of the train before they themselves jumped off.

Arthur landed with a grunt, rolling for a few moments before he pushed himself up onto his feet. Grabbing the sack he’d thrown, he hoisted it over his shoulder before he heard an almighty crash. His head whipping to the side, he watched the train tumble over the edge of the broken bridge, broken from when he and John had blown it up, and crash onto the side of the cliff.

Jesus. They’d been that close.

“Shit...” Bill muttered as he watched the train explode, smoke billowing up into the air. “... We’re alive.”

“Yeah, just about,” Arthur murmured. 

“Well, let’s move.”

The four of them turned away from the wreckage and headed back down the track, Sadie reasoning that the others would probably follow it. They walked in silence, keeping their eyes on the trees in case some men from the patrol had followed them.

After only a few minutes, they saw Dutch, Javier and Micah approaching, slowing their horses as they neared, their own horses following behind them.

They were the only three.

Arthur’s gaze darted between them before settling on Dutch, his heart pounding as he stilled.

“Where’s John?”

Dutch gazed at him, his mouth moving slightly. “... I tried... I tried.”

“He didn’t make it,” Micah said regretfully, and Arthur’s gaze dropped to the ground as he lowered his arm, the sack falling from his shoulder to the floor. “That patrol killed him. We had to run.”

“Come on, let’s go. Before another patrol turns up,” Dutch said swiftly, agitated.

And then he rode away.

Arthur could hear his own breathing as his eyes lifted and watched him retreat, an ache so unbearable in his chest.

And he felt a rage unlike any he’d felt before.

* * *

He’d left it too late. He should’ve gone and made them go, too, when Ada had said, the first time.

The rage burned inside him as they rode back to camp. John had deserved better. He’d deserved to live his life. Abigail and Jack had deserved better than this. How was he going to tell them? How was he going to tell Abigail what happened? He should’ve gone back for him, should’ve said he would instead of Dutch.

He found his gaze continuously returning to him. Something didn’t feel right. Be it Dutch’s lack of grief or what they said had happened he... he didn’t know. All he could think about was how Dutch had left him to die.

But then John had been shot and the patrol was right on them...

He didn’t now. _He didn’t know_. He’d confront him when they got back, ask him for all the fucking details, every single one.

His hands were nearly shaking when they turned onto the path towards the camp, his teeth grazing over his lower lip. He was gonna get some straight fucking answers and then—

“They came and took Abigail and Annie!” Tilly’s devastated cry pierced through his heart as she raced towards them on her horse, pulling it to an abrupt halt. Jack was sat in front of her, crying, his nose running. “I saved Jack, we hid, but they took them!”

“Who did?” Arthur demanded, staring at her.

“Agent Milton and his men,” she gasped, breathless, tears of her own running down her cheeks. “Took them to Van Horn to be put on a boat and tried for murder!”

Arthur met Sadie’s gaze, both their mouths open, hearts pounding.

Oh, shit, they—

“I am _sorry_ to hear that,” Dutch said, shaking his head, agitation still lacing his tone.

“We gotta let ‘em go,” Micah said evenly, looking to Dutch. “John’s a...” He licked his lips and then looked to Jack, puling a sympathetic face. “Well, sorry, son.” The boy dropped his gaze as Tilly wrapped her arm around him with a quiet sob, pressing a kiss to the top of his head while Micah continued. “Without John, she’s just bait, and Annie, well...” Arthur didn’t like the faint smile he gave him before his gaze returned to Dutch. “... Got a bunch of money, Dutch. They’re just girls, they’re won’t do nothin’ to ‘em. But me and the boys know we need to keep ridin’ on this one, Dutch, you know it, every man here knows it.”

Dutch had glanced at Arthur as Micah went on, barely meeting his gaze, and looked away, his chest rising and falling. Arthur couldn’t fucking believe it.

“So we just gonna let the boy be made an _orphan?_ We gonna—”

“It-It ain’t like that!” Dutch stuttered slightly, waving his hand dismissively.

“What is _it_ like?” Arthur retorted, his tone rising.

“I wanna live, cowpoke,” Micah drawled, “I still got the choice. Dutch, they’re just _girls_ , more trouble than they’re worth.”

Arthur was going to fucking murder him, he was going to—

“You’re right.” Dutch was nodding several times, and Arthur stared at him, fucking incredulous.

“ _Dutch..._ ” Dismounting swiftly, he strode to Dutch’s horse and gripped the reins, staring up at him.

“Micah— It pains me to say it, Arthur, but he is _right_.” Dutch gazed down at him, shaking his head.

“ _Dutch!_ ” Arthur thundered, his heart shattering. “They’re good women, you can’t—”

“Come on, boys,” Dutch called over him, and Arthur had to swiftly step back as he urged The Count on. 

Bill, Javier, Micah and Cleet followed after him towards the camp, leaving behind a cloud of dust. Sadie, Tilly and Arthur stared after them, silent.

“Well, I guess that’s that, then...” Arthur murmured, his hands curling into fists. “All them God damn years...”

“Come on, Arthur,” Sadie said gently, before her tone hardened. “Let’s go get ‘em. You and me is all we need.”

Arthur gazed at her for a few moments, wondering how in the hell he deserved these women in his life, and then nodded.

“Miss Tilly...” He met the young woman’s shining gaze, and approached his horse. Removing the sack of money from it, he moved towards her. “Here, take this...” Settling it on the back of her horse, he then met her gaze again. “Take Jack, and you wait at Copperhead Landin’ for Abigail and Mrs Adler, all righ’?”

She nodded as she sniffed, managing a small smile. “Thank you, Arthur.”

He returned it. “You’re a good woman. You live a good life now, you hear?”

“All right, Arthur.” She took a breath, swallowing. “I’ll... I’ll miss...”

“Me, too, sweetheart.” His smile widened a little more. “Me, too.”

As she wiped at her cheeks, he turned his attention to Jack, his features softening. “Jack, c’mere...” Settling his hands on his arms, he nodded at the boy. “Be brave, son. I’m gonna go get your Momma.” He patted his arm as the boy nodded silently, and then he turned away and strode for Ophelia.

“Mrs Adler...” Mounting up, he gathered the reins, his features set, his rage returning, and he kicked Ophelia into a gallop. “... ride with me!”

He wasn’t going to lose anymore of the people he loved today. 

* * *

Abigail’s yelling, which was swiftly cut off, roused her.

Her mouth felt dry and her head ached. Her eyelids fluttered open and she had to immediately close them, the light too bright. At least the hood wasn’t over her head anymore. With a grunt, she tried to shift, but she couldn’t move. Opening her eyes again, blinking them open, she squinted and looked down, finding her legs and arms tied to a chair.

“Well, hello, Miss Adaline.”

She stilled, her eyes flicking up to the man leaning against the wall opposite her. Agent Milton.

Abigail snorted, her breaths harsh. Ada’s head turning to the side, she found her sat in a chair and her hands tied up, too, though she had a cloth covering her mouth, rendering her words rather indecipherable. Biting at it with her teeth, however, she managed to mumble something.

“... not ‘er name...”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Milton smiled, clasping his hands together. “Not such a tight-knit group after all, are you. Adaline O’Driscoll is her full name, though I’m sure there’s probably a heinous middle name.”

Ada’s gaze darted to Abigail, and she found her eyes wide, staring at her.

“Abigail, it’s not what you think, I was going to tell you, when we were sat together, do you remember, I was going to tell you then, I don’t—”

Milton slapped her, the force making her head turn. Grunting, her lips parted as her cheek stung.

“Be quiet. You can talk as much as you like to the judge.”

She heard some men chuckle quietly suddenly behind her and lifted her gaze, finding four of them stood, in uniform and armed, at the back of the room. They seemed to be in a shed, what had once been a store from the rusting cash register on a counter, on some water, she could see it out of the window beside them, though she had no idea where. Inhaling a slow breath, she returned her gaze to Milton, watching him silently as he paced slowly before them, his eyes flicking between them.

“The women of Dutch van der Linde’s brightest boys. I’m gonna love talking to you and learning all your secrets.”

Abigail snorted again as Ada remained silent. Milton was undeterred.

“I’ve so been looking forward to making your acquaintance, both of you.” He smiled, and it was unnerving. “Now... Who’s going to tell me where Dutch van der Linde keeps his money?”

Silence.

Milton chuckled. “I thought as much...” His hand went to his belt and he removed a knife. Unsheathing it, it glinted in the lantern light, long and smooth. Holding it up, he arched an eyebrow. “Who has the most to lose here?”

Ada gripped the arm rests as he stepped closer, hearing Abigail exhale a hard breath.

“Miss Abigail...” The knife turned to her. “... you have a son, don’t you? I’m sure you wish to return to him quite swiftly, yes?”

Abigail was silent, but a glance at her told Ada she wasn’t exactly ready to fight. And then Milton was stepping towards her.

“But you, Miss Ada, you have a brother.”

She stared at him, her brow dipping. “How do you know—”

“ _Silence._ ” He slapped her again, her head turning with it. Gritting her teeth, she looked at him again.

“Now—”

“ _How_ do you know that.”

He gripped her chin, exasperated, the knife raised in his other hand. “Your group really isn’t so tight-knit, Miss Adaline.”

She opened her mouth but he tightened his grip and lightly pressed the tip of the knife against her cheek. It was so sharp that it pierced her skin, making her wince but she kept her gaze on his.

“Now,” he began, licking his lips, “I’m sure you wish to see him again, particularly after being away from each other for so long, so tell me... Where does Dutch keep all the money he’s stolen?”

She couldn’t tell him. Despite her hatred for Dutch, if she told him and he dispatched men straight away, as she suspected he would, the other members of the gang would be in trouble.

“I don’t know,” she murmured.

His hand flew up, gripping the hair at the back of her head, and he yanked it back, making her gasp as he exposed her neck. He pressed the tip of the knife under her chin and it pierced her again. She could already feel a small bead of blood sliding down her cheek from the other tiny wound.

“Oh, I think you do.”

“I _don’t_ know,” she hissed, only to gasp again as he added a little more pressure to the knife.

Abigail tried to yell something that sounded like “ _Stop it!_ ”.

“I don’t know where it is,” Ada hissed again, and Milton pressed his lips together.

“I know you do, I know that you—”

Shots sounded from a short distance away, echoing. Straightening swiftly, his head turning to the door, Milton inhaled a breath.

“Ah, here they are...”

More gunfire erupted as Milton sheathed the knife and returned it to his belt. Glancing over their heads, he gestured at the men.

“You two, outside. Help them.”

“Yes, sir.”

The two men drew their guns and when they crossed the room and headed out of the door opposite Abigail, Ada could just make out part of a lighthouse in the near-distance. A familiar one.

Where had she seen it before...

Van Horn. They were in Van Horn. Well, at least they weren’t hundreds of miles away. And it sounded like the gang had come for them.

Milton moved behind them, heading into a corner as the other two men came into their view, standing guard by the door. Looking at Abigail, she gave her a small smile which, thankfully, was returned. Then Abigail’s eyes dropped pointedly and Ada followed the gesture, finding the other woman moving her hands slightly, trying to loosen the rope around her wrists. Glancing at the two men, she then started to do the same. 

She tried to ignore the gunfire, tried not to think about who might be being shot out there. It wasn’t hard to do, really, because she couldn’t stop thinking about what Milton said. Someone had told him about her. Someone from the gang had been _speaking_ to him. Of course, Molly had said she had been but... had Molly known she had a brother? And that he was alive? She hadn’t even known herself at that point. But who else could it be? The only people who knew about him were Arthur and Sadie, and they would never talk to him. She was missing something, _what_ was she missing—

The door burst open and Sadie Adler entered, gun raised. Ada had been so deep in thought she hadn’t realised the two men had stepped back, retreating behind them. Sadie shot one and then swung her gun to the other, just as Ada cried out, “ _Sadie!_ ”

The other woman couldn’t react in time, and Milton struck the back of her head with the barrel of his gun, making her groan and collapse.

It didn’t knock her out, though, but Milton was already gesturing to the other man. “Tie her up.”

“Sadie, are you okay—” Ada was slapped for a third time by Milton, and before she could recover, a cloth was tied around her mouth.

Biting down on it, her gaze followed the man as he tied Sadie’s legs together and then her arms behind her back, and finally lifted her, carrying her out of sight. By the sounds of it, though, he placed her somewhere behind them, and seemed to tie something around her mouth, too, as muffled curses came from her. Milton appeared before them again and sighed.

“Good to have you joining us, too, Mrs Adler, though you’ll have to excuse me, I’ll get to you later.” His gaze settled on Abigail. “Miss Abigail... you do want to see your son, don’t you? Don’t you?” he prompted her after a couple of moments of silence.

The silence continued, and it became clear he wasn’t going to continue until she answered. Ada watched her nod her head slightly.

“I thought so. Because you’re a _good_ mother.” Gunshots were still sounding from outside, but Milton was ignoring them, either so desperate to get his answer or so confident that his men would handle them out there. “Will you tell me where the money is, then? Then I’ll let you go and you can see your son?”

Silence.

Finally, Abigail mumbled something.

“I’m sorry?”

She mumbled it again, a little louder.

“Oh, hang on, do forgive me...” Stepping forward, Milton pulled the cloth down from around her mouth.

Abigail licked her lips as she exhaled a breath, then met his gaze. “Go to hell, you rat bastard.”

Sadie gave a muffled guffaw from behind them as Ada smiled, but in the same moment that they did, Milton’s arm lashed out and he slapped Abigail hard, the sound of it sharp. Laughter and smiles dying, Ada gripped at the armrests again as she released a muffled curse while Abigail cried out.

“You insolent _fool!_ Van der Linde does not care for you! Why do you protect him?!”

“We don’t protect him, we just hate you,” Abigail hissed, glaring at him through her fallen locks of hair.

“Shut up, you _fool_.” He yanked the cloth back up over her mouth, his jaw tight. “I can’t wait to get the three of you in front of a judge, teach you all a lesson, and don’t think he’ll go easy on you all because you’re women! You’ve each committed heinous crimes and they will be—”

A gun shot sounded from close by, and Milton spun, staring at the door. Ada suddenly realised it had quietened outside, almost silent. As he retreated back into the corner, out of sight, Ada stared at the door as boots sounded, nearing. The room was silent as they all waited, bracing themselves.

The door was kicked open and Arthur Morgan stepped in, firing at the man behind them.

She felt relief wash over her, though it was only short lived.

“Okay, ladies, let’s get out of here,” he said as he moved towards them, holstering his gun and unsheathing a knife.

All three of them tried to speak at the same time as he started to cut one of Abigail’s wrists free, tried to warn him about Milton, but it was just muffled noise, and as he frowned at their urgency, a gun clicked. Stilling, Arthur met Ada’s gaze. Her eyes were wide, her breathing quickened.

“Calm down, Mr Morgan,” Milton declared from behind him.

Arthur straightened, slowly sheathing the knife and then raising his hands. Turning to Milton, he exhaled a weary breath.

“You alone?” Milton asked, and Ada kept her eyes on him, or, more specifically, his gun, her heart pounding.

“Yeah, I’m alone...”

Ada’s heart sank.

_Oh, fuck._

“... But so are you, Milton. All your men out there, they’re dead. And soon you’re gonna be dead.”

She stilled, watching Milton. He’d retreated before when things had gotten bad, he seemed to be all about self-preservation, so surely this would make him run. Yet the man just smiled.

“ _You’ll_ be dead, Mr Morgan, but I’m gonna be just fine.” He sighed. “We offered you a deal, Mr Morgan, you should have taken it.”

“I’m a fool, Mr Milton,” Arthur answered amiably, shrugging.

“Not all you boys have quite so many scruples,” Milton said lightly, tilting his head. “Old Micah Bell.”

Her brow dipped.

_What..._

Arthur was frowning, too. “Micah? You mean Molly?”

“Molly O’Shea?” Milton shrugged nonchalantly. “We sweated her a couple of times, never talked a word, had to let her go.”

_Oh my God._

All Ada could do was stare at him as her stomach twisted and she felt sick.

“Micah Bell, we picked him up, when you boys came back from the Caribbean, and he’s been a good boy ever since.”

_Oh my God. Oh, fuck._

Arthur’s arms had lowered, his breathing slightly harsher. “Oh, God...” he murmured, lowering his head and bending at the waist, his hands settling on his knees as he exhaled a shaking breath.

Ada’s eyes darted to him, her brow dipping. She went to mumble his name when suddenly he lunged at Milton, grabbing the gun and shoving his arms up into the air. They grappled as Ada tried to yank her own arms back, trying to pull at the ropes but they were tied so _tightly_. Her head jerking up, she watched Arthur and Milton twist and turn, until Milton, slightly stronger, started to slowly pull his arms down, trying to aim the gun at Arthur. She released a panicked sound, yanking at the ropes, but they wouldn’t move. The gun was lowering and lowering, nearing Arthur’s head and _oh my God, don’t die, don’t die, don’t die, please—_

A gunshot went off and she gasped, freezing. Yet it was Milton who had a hole in his head and went slack, collapsing to the ground. Arthur blew out a breath as he stumbled back and Ada’s head whipped to the other side, finding Abigail, free of her bonds, stood with a gun in her hands, breathing hard.

Lowering it, she licked her lips. “Horrible man.”

Turning away, she darted over to Sadie and started to free her. Arthur wiped the blood that had splattered onto his face from the close proximity with his arm before he moved to Ada. Gently pulling the cloth down from her mouth, he smiled softly.

“Hey, sweetheart, you okay?”

She nodded as she returned the smile, watching him unsheathe his knife once more before she met his gaze again. “Yeah, fine.”

“You sure? Cheek’s a little red and you got some blood there and on your chin.”

“Oh, yeah, he slapped me a couple of times, and then tried to intimidate me with a knife.”

"I bet that didn’t work, huh?” Kneeling down to cut her ankles free, he looked up at her, one corner of his mouth lifting a little higher than the other.

She sniffed as she shook her head, her own lips rising. “Not one bit.”

“That’s my girl.”

Once the rope was gone, he sheathed his knife and got to his feet before offering a hand out to her. Helping her up, he drew her in for an embrace, holding her tightly. Her arms went around his shoulders as her cheek rested against his chest, her eyes closing.

“So, you’re an O’Driscoll, then, huh?” 

Pulling back from Arthur, her gaze met Abigail’s, Sadie now stood, free, rolling her shoulders. Abigail glanced at Sadie then Arthur, her eyebrows raised.

“And no one else seems surprised.”

Ada smiled lightly, finding it a very good sign that Abigail wasn’t glaring or lunging at her. “I don’t exactly consider myself an O’Driscoll. Only by name.”

Abigail nodded as her eyebrows rose a little higher. “Well. Guess we should’ve had that chat while we had the chance, huh?”

“Sorry, ladies,” Sadie said before Ada could reply, “We can discuss this later, first of all let’s get the _hell_ out of here.”

“There might be some men outside,” Arthur said, “They might’ve heard the noise, so just keep runnin’, find the horses.”

After they all nodded and took a breath, they moved to the door, Sadie exiting first, rifle in her hands. Once outside, they ran across the wooden boards and, sure enough, men shouted from a distance and began to fire.

“Keep goin’!” Arthur called from behind them. “Get to the horses!”

Sadie seemed to know the way so she and Abigail followed after her, ducking slightly and flinching with every bullet that sounded.

“What happened to Jack?” Abigail shouted. “Where is he?”

“He’s fine, Tilly’s got ‘im!” Sadie replied.

“Oh, thank God!”

Ada breathed her own sigh of relief with Abigail’s cry.

_Thank God, indeed._

She heard Arthur firing behind her, but the men were at the other end of the street, perhaps unsure at how many of them there were.

“Abigail, you ride with me,” Sadie said as they reached their horses behind a building.

Ada mounted Ophelia and gathered the reins, Arthur sitting behind her so he could continue to fire. Turning her, she urged the horse into a gallop, following behind Sadie and Abigail once more. They headed away from the men, out of the only other entrance to Van Horn. 

“Let’s go!” Sadie called as they crossed train tracks, though the men still sounded far off, most likely nervous about an ambush.

“On the left!” Abigail suddenly cried as men appeared from the trees.

_Or perhaps not._

She just focused on the path and steering Ophelia as Arthur and Abigail shot at the small group. 

“God damn you all!” the mother yelled, her aim rather good.

“There’s nowhere for you to run to!” a man called out before he was silenced by Arthur’s bullet.

“Keep goin’!” Arthur shouted.

“More of ‘em! Go left!” Sadie yelled and Ada pulled on Ophelia’s reins, following her.

Keeping her eyes on the path, she didn’t know how many men were following them now, but from the gunshots and shouts it sounded like quite a few.

They went up an incline then down and then, suddenly, Arthur and Abigail stopped firing.

“I think that’s it,” Arthur called, but they kept their horses to a gallop, just in case.

“They grabbed us outside camp,” Abigail started to say after a few minutes of silence, when they all started to relax a little more. “Tilly, Jack and Susan were in the camp, Karen was gettin’ ready to leave. It happened so fast, we couldn’t do anythin’, and then they knocked us out.”

“It’s all right, Jack and Tilly are fine,” Sadie reassured her.

They reached a crossroad and Ada was about to turn right, heading back towards camp, when Arthur said, “Hey, hang on, hold up a moment...”

Slowing Ophelia, Sadie did the same with her horse, frowning at him. “Arthur, there’s no time—”

“There’s time.”

Dismounting, he moved to Abigail, and held his arms out to her, wanting to help her down. Abigail looked at him, then glanced at Sadie, her back stiff.

“What happened to John?” she said suddenly. “ _Where’s_ _John?_ ”

Ada caught Sadie looking away before her gaze shifted to Arthur, his arms lowering, and her stomach dropped.

“I-I don’t...” Arthur tried, gazing up at Abigail. “I think...”

After he trailed off, he held his arms out to her again and after a moment she shifted forward, letting him help her down. Releasing her as Sadie and Ada also dismounted, Abigail swallowed.

“Arthur...”

“He...” Arthur glanced at Sadie as he shifted slightly, and tears stung at Ada’s eyes.

“What?” Abigail asked, her voice shaking.

“He got killed or he got captured.”

“ _No..._ ” Abigail gasped, her body almost doubling-over like she’d been punched. “ _No..._ ”

Sadie caught her as she stumbled slightly, wrapping her arms around her.

“I’m really sorry, Abigail,” Arthur continued, his own voice cracking faintly. 

“ _No_ ,” Abigail gasped again, almost angrily, tears falling down her cheeks, her gaze on the ground.

“I’m... I was on the train and I didn’t see it,” Arthur murmured, and Ada moved to him as her lower lip trembled, her hand settling gently on his back.

“ _No..._ ” Abigail wept, her eyes closed tightly.

Arthur swallowed, then lowered his voice slightly. “Listen, we got Jack, he’s safe. Sadie will take you to him, but John...” His voice cracked again and Ada closed her eyes for a few moments as tears silently slid down her cheeks.

Abigail was still weeping, barely able to look at Arthur in her grief, though Sadie kept a tight, comforting hold on her. 

“I want you to know this,” Arthur murmured softly, fiercely, “he loved you. He _loved_ you and Jack, he did. He wasn’t perfect but he did. Now...” He swallowed hard. “... you gotta go get that boy.”

Abigail looked up at him, but Ada didn’t know if she was actually registering his words.

“Go on, get outta here,” he said, gently placing a hand on Sadie’s arm, making her move. Ada’s own hand dropped from him and she took a small step back.

The blonde woman released Abigail as she frowned at him, even as she mounted her horse. “Arthur, _what_ are you doin’?”

“I got to go have a little chat,” he said, faint anger lacing his tone.

“Oh, Arthur...” Abigail burst into tears all over again, but Arthur shook his head fiercely.

“Don’t you, ‘ _oh Arthur_ ’ me, neither of you two, not now.”

Gripping her waist, he lifted her and helped her onto the back of Sadie’s horse. Both women gazed down at him, Abigail crying, Sadie quiet, her lips pressed together. 

Arthur cleared his throat and then glanced at Ada, stood a couple of feet away, her arms by her sides. 

“Come on, Ada, you, too, you can take Ophelia—”

“No.”

He paused, licking his lips. Exhaling a breath, he shifted his weight to his other foot. “Ada, please. You can—”

“Arthur.” The quiet, firm tone alone silenced him as she held his gaze. “I’m with you.”

He gazed at her, his heart breaking and healing at the same time.

He had made a vow. He wouldn’t leave her. And she, it seemed, wouldn’t leave him, no matter what.

Nodding slightly, he cleared his throat again as his gaze dropped to the ground. Ada’s shifted to Sadie and she stepped closer, smiling softly.

“Don’t die, woman,” Sadie murmured, managing a smile as she took her hand, holding it tightly.

“You, too,” Ada answered, tears filling her eyes again.

She supposed that was the closest they would get to saying ‘ _I love you, thank you_ ’. Sniffing, she looked to Abigail, the woman’s features crumbling as she released Sadie and took her hand.

“Be well, Abigail.”

“Oh, you, too, Annie, I mean, Ada,” she corrected herself with a half-sobbed laugh before her chin trembled. “And I was just gettin’ to know you.”

“I know.” Ada swallowed thickly. “Another time.”

Abigail nodded, and Ada squeezed her hand before releasing it and stepping back.

Arthur exhaled a breath and gazed at the women on the horse. “You’re good women,” he said after a moment, smiling lightly. “Good people.” He nodded as Abigail wept again. “The best. You go get that boy, there’ll be time for sorrow later.”

He was about to step back when Abigail sniffed. “If you’re headed back there, Arthur... Take this...” She reached inside her pocket and withdrew a key, holding it out to him. “I don’t need it anymore.”

“What’s that?”

“For the money box.” Abigail glanced at Ada’s, whose brows had raised, and she smiled. “Found it yesterday amongst Dutch’s things. It’s better than some hair pins.”

Arthur accepted it, shaking his head with a small, exhaled laugh of disbelief. “Abigail Roberts...”

She took his hand as she tried not to burst into tears again. “I always was a good thief.”

“That you was,” he said with a soft smile, and Ada quickly wiped at her cheeks as tears fell. “Go on, get outta here,” he continued after a moment, releasing Abigail’s hand and stepping back.

Sadie met Ada’s gaze, smiled softly and nodded, and then she was kicking at her horse as Abigail wept and they rode away. Ada watched them, swallowing hard as tears continued to fall, not knowing if she would ever see them again.

She never knew her heart could hurt so much. 

“Hey...”

Looking up at Arthur, she didn’t bother to wipe her cheeks, knowing it was useless as tears would just keep coming. His own eyes were shining, but he managed a smile, his hands taking hers. Holding them, he swallowed and held her gaze.

“Are you sure about this.”

She sniffed and lifted her chin a little, the corners of her mouth rising into a soft smile. “Until whatever end.”

His jaw moved slightly as he swallowed again. And then he was pulling her in and wrapping his arms around her tightly. Her own went around him as she closed her eyes, sending more tears dripping down her cheeks. 

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering, and after a few moments she tilted her head up and caught them, kissing him firmly, her hand cupping his jaw.

His cheeks were wet, and she didn’t know if it was from her own tears or his.

She released a quiet, shuddering breath when they finally parted, her hand resting on his chest, and she patted it once before she looked up at him, and he was smiling, so tenderly.

“Come on,” she murmured, releasing him, and she moved to Ophelia, mounting her and gathering the reins.

Looking to him, she found him still watching her. She smiled and he returned it, inhaling a breath. Then, he was moving forward and mounting Ophelia, sitting behind her.

Turning her gaze to the path, Ada gently kicked Ophelia and she moved, taking them towards the camp, and whatever waited for them there.


	23. The Last Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

How far she had come. How she had loved and lost.

She had waited her whole life to live, and how she had done so in just a few, short months. 

And she’d just had to say goodbye to one of the greatest friends she’d ever had, and another she was just getting to know, not knowing if they would ever meet again.

Or if she and Arthur would live past this night.

She wasn’t an idiot. She knew they weren’t going to just sit down for a civilised conversation. She knew Arthur would go, no matter how much she begged and pleaded, knew he had to finish this and get the closure he needed, so she had decided, in the few seconds it took for him to lift Abigail onto the horse, that she would go with him, no matter how much _he_ begged and pleaded.

She’d expected more of a fight, but she guessed he, knowing her so entirely as he did, knew she wouldn’t back down.

She would do everything in her power to make sure he lived, that they both did, but if something were to happen...

Somewhere in the back of her mind she was terrified beyond recognition, but the rest of her was calm, almost peaceful. This was right, she knew. She was exactly where she was supposed to be.

And she was going to kill Micah Bell for having placed their lives in danger, and her brother’s.

He had betrayed them, betrayed Dutch, and how she was going to revel in them telling him. In fact, she didn’t entirely mind if he killed Micah before she could, though she’d prefer it to be by her own hand, or Arthur’s, he deserved it more. Maybe then Dutch would listen to some kind of reason. Maybe.

There was a cool breeze blowing, the sun setting, and she could still feel the wetness on her cheeks from her tears. She couldn’t dwell on them, though, because Arthur was right; there would be time for sorrow later, when this was all done, however that came to be.

With every fibre of her being, though, with everything left in her, she was going to make sure it was her and Arthur that walked away free and safe.

He was just as quiet as she was, sat behind her, one arm around her waist, the other on the pommel of the saddle in front of her. She could hazard a guess at what he was thinking, of how he, too, was shoving and burying grief away for a later time.

Almost as if he had heard her thoughts, his thumb brushed gently against her side. She didn’t look up at him but leaned back a little more against him, her gaze remaining fixed on the path.

Part of Arthur had known it would come to this, part of him that he’d locked away and not wanted to think about. In the brief, self-loathing times he had thought about it, though, he had imagined he would be alone. He was still telling himself to make her go, to take control of the reins and get her to the nearest train station or chase after Sadie and Abigail, he _should_ have done that, he should have fought harder to make sure she got away and was safe.

_She’d have just got away from them. Would have come back. Would have followed me._

No matter what he would have done, he knew, she would have found a way to come back to him, fire blazing in her eyes.

So here she was, the woman he loved with his whole heart and couldn’t believe loved him back, riding with him to face the man he’d once considered family. His father, even.

He wondered how it had got to this point, when the exact turning point had been... but he knew it had been gradual, slow, painful. And he hadn’t been blind to it. He had seen glimpses but these last few months had brought them on so rapidly, one right after the other, that it was like he couldn’t recover or think about the previous incident because the next was happening almost immediately. Or he just simply hadn’t wanted to. Hadn’t wanted to see the truth of his adopted family falling apart. The only constant he’d ever had in his life until he’d met her. Hadn’t wanted to face the cause of it.

Dutch van der Linde had taken him in when he was an angry, wild youth, and had taught him, along with Hosea, how to read, how to write, how to shoot, how to look after those you loved, how to live life on your own terms and help out those in need.

It would destroy him if he thought about Hosea, thought about how, now more than ever, Dutch needed his guidance, his voice of reason. Arthur needed it, too. Was this right? Riding back, needing answers, needing explanations so he could walk away and not spend the rest of his life thinking ‘what if’?

Yes, he believed it was. Dutch needed to answer to someone, and if it had to be him then so be it.

Whatever happened, Ada was going to leave alive and safe, and the rest of the gang, Sadie, Abigail, Jack, Tilly, whoever else wanted to leave, they would live the rest of their lives in peace.

And John... He couldn’t think about his brother now. Time for sorrow later.

Riding past Butcher Creek, his heart started to beat a little faster. Minutes from now he’d be facing him, demanding the truth and facing him for potentially the last time in his life.

He hoped he would live to see the sun rise.

If he didn’t... Ada had to live.

No matter what.

If she were to die... he would, too.

Ada felt her heart sink at the sight of the camp as it finally came into view. Only Dutch’s and John’s tents were still erected, the latter just a cruel reminder of who they had lost. The wagon Arthur’s bed was usually shoved against was there but the blankets that had acted as a roof were gone, Arthur’s belongings just left on the bed. The main fire at the centre of the camp had dwindled, barely glowing, and only a few horses grazed nearby. To think she had arrived into their world to hustle and bustle and music and laughter, and this was now all that remained.

She drew Ophelia to a halt, relieved to find Mags was one of the horses grazing, the great Hungarian Half-bred raising her head at the sight of them and idling closer. Arthur dismounted first, and then she slid from the saddle, their eyes drifting across the camp. A mist had started to settle in the air, the day turning colder, so it almost startled her when she suddenly saw Micah, the man moving away from a pile of crates.

“Get them bags packed up quick, Miss Grimshaw,” he ordered, heading towards Dutch’s tent as she suddenly saw Cleet a few feet away from him, closing a bag, and near to him was Bill, shoving bullets and cans into another bag. A man she didn’t recognise, shouldering a rifle, was going through a crate, lifting bottles and inspecting them. Another friend of Micah’s, no doubt. Maybe even an undercover Pinkerton agent.

Rage started to build inside her once more as she and Arthur started to move across the camp. 

“Come on, all of you,” Micah was continuing.

“Well, we’re doin’ our best,” Susan answered from somewhere, uncharacteristically flustered.

“Hurry, we ain’t got long—”

“We just got plenty of time, Micah,” Arthur called out, Ada beside him, a Repeater from Ophelia’s saddle in her hand by her side.

Micah, Cleet, the new friend and Susan paused, their eyes darting to them.

“We all need to have a little chat.”

“Cowpoke, you’re back,” Micah greeted unenthusiastically, “Hooray.”

Ada kept quiet as she stayed beside Arthur, Susan narrowing her eyes at her to her right.

“We just saw Agent Milton, Dutch.” Arthur’s tone was light as he ignored Micah, approaching Dutch’s tent.

As there the man himself was, stood at the entrance of it, arms by his sides, watching them.

“Abigail shot ‘im. She’s okay, not that you care too much about that.” His gaze shifted to Cleet and Micah and their new friend to his left, his tongue running along his teeth. “You rats. All of ya.” Raising his eyebrows, he glanced at Dutch. “Seems old Micah was pretty close with Milton.”

Ada kept her eyes on Micah as he stepped closer, his tone low, all humour gone. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, cowpoke.”

Arthur raised his chin slightly, his tone matching. “You talked.”

“That’s a God damn lie.” Behind Micah, Cleet and the other man were holding their guns, unraised, but they were holding them, stepping closer with him.

“Dutch—”

“Dutch,” Micah’s tone was now faintly exasperated, “Think of the future.”

Ada glanced at Dutch briefly, not wanting to take her eyes off the men for too long, and found him silent, expressionless.

“Milton told me,” Arthur said to him, making Micah chuckle.

“And you believe him, cowpoke? You believe him?”

“It all makes sense now.” Arthur’s gaze had returned to Micah, meeting his and holding it.

“No...” The blond man was shaking his head, tone light. “... It damn well doesn’t.”

_You bastard..._

Suddenly, Arthur drew his gun and aimed it at him, and as she did the same, guns clicked as Cleet, the unfamiliar man, and Micah aimed at them. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bill grip his gun, but he didn’t raise it. Susan moved somewhere behind her but she didn’t hear any sounds of a gun.

“Dutch, _think,_ ” Arthur hissed, keeping his eyes fixed on Micah.

“Dutch...” Micah inhaled a breath, shifting his stance minutely as he pressed his lips together. “... Be _practical_ now.”

Ada was barely breathing, her eyes flicking between the three men, her heart pounding. Dutch wasn’t saying anything, silent for the first time in his God damn life, probably, and if he didn’t speak soon then Micah was going to take the lead and he was going to kill Arthur and she couldn’t—

“ _Dutch!_ ” The familiar voice rang out across the camp and her heart stopped.

Keeping their guns raised, heads turned and all of them watched John Marston limp into the camp, gripping his bleeding shoulder.

“ _John?_ ” Bill said in disbelief, and she heard Susan gasp behind her.

“You left me!” John hissed through gritted teeth, rage twisting his features. “You left me to die!”

“My boy...” Gentleman Dutch stepped out of his tent, moving towards him, sounding just as in disbelief as Bill. “... I didn’t have a choice. John, I didn’t—”

“ _You—_ ”

“I didn’t have a _choice_.”

“— _left me!_ ”

“All of you,” Arthur cut in, his heart pounding as relief, anger and incredulity raged inside him, cementing what he knew needed to happen. “You pick your side now, because this is over.” He glanced at Dutch, trying not to snarl. “All them years, Dutch, for this _snake?_ ”

Micah chuckled, low and dangerously, tilting his head as he shifted again. “Oh, be quiet, cowpoke. Be _quiet._ You live in the clouds—”

“No, _you_ be quiet, Mr Bell.” Susan Grimshaw stood beside Ada, holding a shotgun, thunderous. “And put down your gun.”

Ada wanted to glance at her, to smile at her, to make her feel welcome and greeted in this decision because it could not have been an easy one, but Javier suddenly came racing up the hill, breathless as he entered the camp and pointed behind himself.

“There’s Pinkertons coming, fast!”

And then it happened so quickly. Susan lowered her gun just slightly, looking at Javier, and a gunshot went off. The older woman released a cry of pain as Ada stiffened, and she fell back. Swiftly, Ada looked down at her, watching blood pour out of her stomach before her head was whipping back up as she looked at Micah, adjusting her grip on her gun.

He smiled.

“ _Now!_ ” Dutch yelled, drawing both his guns and aiming at her and Arthur _and_ at Micah and his boys.

Ada’s breath had quickened, sweat trickling down her back, trying to focus on what was happening while hearing Susan gasp for breath and cry in pain.

Dutch just continued over the horrible sounds, moving between them. “Who amongst you is with me?!” He turned suddenly, walking backwards as he kept his guns aimed. John was suddenly at her side, but she couldn’t look away from Micah who had only just shifted his gaze from her to Dutch. “And who is betrayin’ me?!”

People began to move. Javier, his gun now drawn, moved closer to Dutch, as did Micah and his boys, and Bill. In turn, she, Arthur and John moved, backwards opposite them, their backs to the cave entrance and Dutch’s tent.

“Bill, Javier,” Arthur began, anger saturating his tone, his gun following the group. “ _Think_ , think for _yourselves_.”

“He’s lyin’.” Micah stood beside Dutch, one gun aimed at Arthur, the other at Ada. “ _He’s lying_.”

“He’s not.” She surprised herself by speaking, Micah’s gaze darting to her.

“And what did Milton say to you that convinced you, sweetheart?”

He smiled again, a secretive, knowing smile, and she wanted to shoot him right there.

“Enough.”

“Oh, enough, did he—”

“Put your guns down!” An unfamiliar voice yelled from somewhere above but before any of them could look a gunshot sounded and a bullet collided with the ground before them all.

“God damn it!” Dutch yelled, ducking instinctively as they all did, before he was turning, “Move!”

Scattering, they all ran for cover, Dutch and his followers to the right, Arthur, Ada and John to some crates piled beside Dutch’s tent under the cliff.

“You ready?” Arthur shouted over the noise of gunfire to them both.

“Yeah!” John hissed as he drew his guns, and they watched Pinkertons ride down the main path and emerge from the trees.

“Everyone get down!” Dutch yelled as another voice shouted over the din, “This is Agent Ross with the Pinkerton Detective Agency! Put your guns down! Lay down your weapons now! We have you surrounded!”

They all aimed and fired at the approaching men. Pinkertons fell from their horses, others running were knocked back, collapsing against trees or falling to the ground. They’d had the element of surprise but the camp was quick to react, better shots amongst them. As Ada ducked down to reload, she got her last glimpse of Susan Grimshaw. The woman was still on the ground, body twisted at an awkward angle, hands fallen from her stomach. Time for sorrow later.

“Dutch, we gotta go! Come on!” they heard Micah yell.

John and Ada continued to fire as Arthur looked to his right, watching Micah and his boys, and Javier and Bill, and Dutch, move down the hill.

“They’re all yours, Morgan!” Micah called gleefully.

“All of you! Hold it right there!” Agent Ross shouted out. “They’re escaping into the woods!”

“We were always gonna get you!” another Pinkerton called out as a group of them ran for where Dutch and the rest were going.

“Come on!” John shouted, rising and pulling at Ada’s arm, making her do the same as she continued to fire. “Arthur, come on! Into the caves! Quick!”

They turned and ran, bullets flying over their heads, embedding in the crates behind them, racing past them.

“Chase them down!” they heard a Pinkerton yell as they entered the darkness of the caves, the air even colder.

She followed after John, nearly tripping and sliding on loose stones, Arthur close behind her on the long, winding path into the depths of the caves. Like the way she and Abigail had entered, there were old wagons and crates and various pieces of furniture strewn about, decaying and broken. There were a few dwindling lanterns here and there but not enough to truly light the way, though the darkness gave them an advantage.

“Find them and kill them!” she heard a man shout from the entrance, his voice echoing down. “If you surrender, we’ll take you alive!”

“Keep goin’!” John hissed, and Ada suddenly realised where they were as they passed the wagon the money box was under.

It would have to be left.

She could hear the echoing footsteps of the Pinkertons running after them still some distance back, mercifully not shooting at them, but that wouldn’t last.

“Those bastards left me for dead,” John seethed as they turned a sharp corner.

“Seems that’s what they do now!” Arthur answered, right behind her.

They arrived at the way she and Abigail had entered, John taking the first ladder up and then her after shouldering her Repeater, then Arthur. They moved swiftly up the Murfree walkway, hearts pounding, breathing harsh.

“I see them!” someone called from down below, and then the shots began again.

Flinching with every sound of the bullets striking rock, she quickened her pace as John paused to let her climb the next ladder first. She could see the square-like hole in the rock high above, just moving as fast as she could.

“Micah was the rat, John, Milton told me,” Arthur was saying to John.

“ _Shit_. We should’ve killed him months ago!”

“I don’t disagree with you on that.”

She reached the final ladder that led up to the hole and climbed, feeling the fresh air on her face. They just had to get out and run, maybe to the river and across it, they could get lost in the trees—

Bullets collided with the rock beside her and she gasped, flinching but continuing.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Arthur called from behind John, both of them also climbing.

“I’m fine!”

She reached the top and hauled herself up, straightening once she was through the gap. The sun had fully set now, the land dark, mist covering it. Quietly gasping for breath, she turned and swiftly gripped John’s good arm, helping him up. He nodded his gratitude at her, also trying to catch his breath, and then Arthur was through, safe and fine.

They didn’t stop to recover, instantly running down the hill, the trees quiet. Maybe the Pinkertons had followed Dutch, leaving the land now free for them. All they had to do was escape the ones behind them, it should be easy enough with it just being the three of them. Arthur and John whistled for their horses as they came to a halt at a path, scanning the treeline. Ada had had no time to train Mags so she just watched the trees, too, panting.

“Abigail...” Arthur began breathlessly, turning to the other man. “... Abigail’s safe, so’s Jack...”

“Where are they?!”

“They’re with Sadie... at Copperhead Landin’.”

John gazed at him, breathing hard, though Ada believed it wasn’t just to catch his breath now. Stepping closer to Arthur, one hand took his and the other settled on his arm and he shook his hand firmly.

“Thank you... brother. Both of you... Thank you.”

He met her gaze and she smiled softly, nodding at him. Arthur placed his other hand over his and inclined his head. As Ophelia and John’s horse arrived, John went to release his hand and move to them, but Arthur tightened his grip, making him pause.

“I want you... to not look back,” Arthur murmured, holding his gaze. “Like I said”

He held his hand for a moment longer, letting his words sink in, and then he released him and was placing a hand on Ada’s back, guiding her towards Ophelia. John followed, moving to his horse, his eyes lingering on them for a few moments. Arthur let her mount first, holstering the Repeater on the saddle as she took the reins, and then he pulled himself up behind her as John mounted.

“Where are yo—” John began, when bullets flew over their heads.

Their heads whipping to the side, at first she thought it was Pinkertons, but as they drew closer she saw Micah and Dutch and the boys, and they were aiming at them and firing.

She kicked Ophelia into a gallop the same moment John kicked his and they bolted down the path, Arthur gripping on to her.

“You’re all dead!” Micah yelled.

_Fuck._

“Come on! This way!” John shouted over him to her.

She had no idea where they were going, disorientated in the dark and mist, but she followed after John, gripping the reins tight. All they had to do was outrun them, and maybe the Pinkertons would catch up with them and deem Dutch the higher prize.

Shouts suddenly came from the hill above them and looking up she saw Pinkerton men racing down, some on horses, some on foot. God, she hoped they would just go after Dutch.

“Look out!” John shouted at the sight of them, drawing one of his guns.

Arthur had done the same and they fired together. She had to keep her attention ahead as they crossed a river and it was only when they were half way across it that she saw the path, the mist thicker. The horses were going as fast as they could and her heart raced in time with their hooves. They just had to get away, they just had to put some distance between them, just outrun them, and then they would be okay.

John hissed out a curse suddenly and her eyes darted up, seeing a wagon on the path ahead, three Pinkerton men aiming at them.

“There’s nowhere to go! Surrender and you will live!”

“They’re blockin’ the road! This way!”

Ada turned Ophelia sharply and raced after John down another path as Arthur shot the men, the wind cold.

“There’s an army of these sons of bitches!” John shouted.

“We have to keep going!” she heard herself answer. “We have to put some distance between them and us!”

“There’s Pinkertons down there on the left! They should keep the others busy!” Arthur called, but she didn’t dare look away from the road to check.

It was like her family all over again, if she just kept looking ahead, kept her eyes fixed on the path then they would be okay, nothing would happen, they’d make it out fine.

“Shit, up ahead!”

Men were coming down the long path towards them so they veered off of it, heading up a hill. Arthur swiftly reloaded, his breathing accelerated.

There were too many of them. So _many_. Micah must have told them where they were and that they would be leaving, though they also seemed to be firing at him so he seemed to have served his purpose. Ada and John were urging the horses on, racing up towards a hill through a clearing, and he just kept firing at the men far behind them, keeping them safe, they were gaining ground, they were going to get away—

Ophelia screamed as her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor. He just had time to wrap an arm around Ada’s waist, keeping her upright as the horse went down, the woman crying out in shock. The horse landing on her side, Arthur grunted and Ada hissed as they landed on the ground, too, thrown slightly in the motion and only their feet trapped underneath her.

“Oh my God, oh my God...” Ada was murmuring, her hands releasing the reins, and she and Arthur pushed themselves up.

“You okay?” His hand went to her shoulder as they straightened, catching her gaze. “Ada, are you all righ’?”

She nodded quickly, her heart pounding so fast she thought she could hear it. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, I, what happened—”

Ophelia whinnied pitifully and their heads turned to her.

“Awh, shit...” Arthur murmured, his eyes fixed on his horse.

Releasing Ada, he stumbled towards the Thoroughbred, dropping to his knees before her. Ada swallowed hard as she saw the blood on the horse, and her gaze shifted to Arthur momentarily before gunshots brought her back to the moment. Darting forward, she pulled the Repeater from the saddle and stood over Arthur, firing at a group of approaching men as John did the same, his own horse also downed and killed.

It was only a small group that had followed them up the hill, for now, but she and John kept watch as Arthur cradled Ophelia’s head, stroking her neck as she whinnied in pain.

“Come on, brother,” John said breathlessly.

“Yeah, just, gimme a second...” Arthur murmured, stroking her gently, murmuring soft words.

Ada kept a tight grip on the Repeater, trying to stop her hands from shaking as her gaze darted from tree to tree below.

“Come on, Arthur, we gotta go!”

John was starting to move up the hill again, but Ada didn’t move yet, waiting for Arthur to.

“... good girl... well done... thank you...” Arthur was continuing to murmur, sniffing quietly. 

“Arthur!”

Ophelia fell silent.

“I’m comin’...”

Ada stepped back as Arthur pushed himself up, exhaling a heavy breath. Lowering the gun, she turned and faced John with him, Arthur ducking down to pick his hat up.

“Come on, let’s go—”

“Wait, what about the money?” Arthur said, making John and Ada pause. “Abigail gave me the key.”

John was already shaking his head. “We head down there, we’re dead in five minutes. I got a family, that’s more important. You got one, too.”

Ada swallowed hard as John nodded at her before his gaze returned to Arthur. It was a brief moment of sweetness in this nightmare of a day. Arthur set his hat on his head as he nodded, his hand settling on Ada’s back gently.

“All righ’, let’s get goin’, then.” The three of them started to head up the hill, moving quickly as he spoke, determination lacing his every word, “I’m gonna get us out of this bullshit if it’s the last God damn thing I do.”

_It won’t be_ , she thought fiercely.

There was the sound of hooves behind them down on the path so they broke out into a run, hearing faint gunfire.

“Ah, shit, let’s go! We need to find higher ground!” John called, taking the lead up what she now realised was a peak, grass turning to rock as they ran higher. “Don’t worry about them, they’ll just be goin’ back for the money!”

“You think it’s Dutch and Micah?” she asked, both unable to believe it and also very much able to.

“Dutch won’t wanna leave that behind,” Arthur answered her, running behind her as the path narrowed.

The gunshots were drawing closer, even as they raced over the crest of the peak, rock either side of them.

Of course he wouldn’t want to leave it. He’d forgotten about people and wanted to leave with the amount of his life’s worth. She should have grabbed it as they ran, it wouldn’t have been that heavy, they could have left with it or hidden it somewhere—

She nearly collided with John’s back as he came to an abrupt halt on the path, his arm flinging out to stop her.

“ _Shit_...” 

Arthur stopped behind her, and they watched a group of eight Pinkertons ride by on a path below, galloping towards the sounds of gunfire. Shouldering the Repeater, she exhaled a hard breath as she watched them, their guns drawn. They were everywhere.

“Let’s get up this cliff,” John hissed, turning to their left.

They moved up the steep incline, having to duck slightly and hold onto the rock at a few points.

“Get down!” Arthur suddenly yelled, and bullets started to bounce off the stone, coming from behind them.

Gasping, she flattened herself against the rock as she moved as quickly as she could for a collection of rocks jutting out of the cliff. Arthur and John went for cover, too, drawing their guns once more.

“They’re everywhere! Get down!” John shouted from behind another set of rocks.

Turning to the source of the bullets, she saw four men on the cliff opposite, firing relentlessly. She supposed they were past being able to surrender, then. Raising the Repeater, she fired back with John and Arthur.

They dealt with them quickly, mercifully, and she was about to breathe a small sigh of relief when gunfire sounded from the base of the peak.

_My God, they’re not going to stop._

“C’mon, we gotta go! We need to get outta here!” John was racing past her and she rose automatically, following behind him once more with Arthur behind her.

They reached the top, the rock levelling out, and started down a small path, breathing hard. John glanced over his shoulder, then stopped, making her do the same as she frowned.

“What—”

“Arthur, c’mon!”

Turning, she looked with him at Arthur, finding he had stopped, his hands on his knees as he bent over to take in deep breaths.

Licking her dry lips, she moved towards him, the Repeater knocking against her back as she shouldered it. “Arthur, come on, we can get away through the trees, just a little further.”

He shook his head, breathing harshly.

She frowned again, suddenly feeling _very_ anxious as she looked at him, his skin pale.

“Arthur, c’mon!” John shouted again, and Arthur straightened, his eyes raising to them as he shook his head again.

“No... No...” He coughed, his lungs burning for air. “I think I’ve pushed all I can.”

“What...” Her gaze darted over him, _thoroughly_ confused and starting to feel sick with anxiety because _why_ couldn’t he—

She saw it. Blood was seeping through his jacket from his left bicep, his arm hanging by his side.

Her stomach dropped and she went cold.

“Oh my God. Oh my _God_ , Arthur, when—”

He shook his head, giving her a small smile as she stepped towards him, her eyes starting to shine. “It’s all right, sweetheart, I’m okay. Just now. Bastards snuck up on us.” Before she could open her mouth to speak, his eyes were on John. “Go, all right.”

John shook his head fiercely, gripping at his still bleeding shoulder as he panted, moving closer. “We ain’t got _time_ for this, not now.”

“John, you gotta get to your family. I can hold ‘em off.”

His brother was angry, shaking his head again. “No, c’mon, _you_ got a family, too, c’mon, we can all make it.”

Ada stood looking at Arthur, her lower lip starting to tremble faintly as she realised.

He was willing to die.

Arthur exhaled a short breath as he bowed his head, and then he was removing his hat. “We ain’t all gonna make it.”

She had to blink to clear the tears from her eyes as he closed the gap between him and John.

“Go, now. I’ll hold ‘em off.”

John was staring at him incredulously, then his gaze was darting to her. “Annie, you—”

“I’m staying with him.” Her voice cracked slightly, but the determination on her features was enough to have John looking back to Arthur, his shoulders dropping.

Arthur exhaled a breath, then set his hat on John’s head before pulling his satchel off and placing it around him. John opened his mouth to speak, but before he could Arthur had a hand on his good shoulder, gripping him.

“It would mean a lot to me, please.” Swallowing hard, he inhaled a breath. “There ain’t no more time for talk. Go.”

Releasing him, he stepped back and turned away, and the look of quiet devastation on his features broke Ada’s heart.

“Arthur...” John was staring after his brother and Arthur paused, looking back at him. He looked like the young, lost boy he’d been when they’d first met.

“Go to your family,” Arthur demanded.

“ _Arthur_ —”

“Get the hell outta here and be a God damn man!”

John shook his head slightly, and murmured, “You’re my brother.”

Arthur’s features softened, and after a moment he nodded. “I know.” Then, his features were hardening once more, as if those words was the motivation he needed, and he nodded again. “ _I know_.”

Without another look back, he started to climb the cliff.

Tears slid down Ada’s cheeks as she watched him, and then she was looking to John, swallowing.

He looked so helpless.

“Annie—”

“It’s Ada, actually.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “Huh?”

She gave him a soft, tearful smile as she swallowed again. “Sadie will explain everything, I promise.”

He looked like he was about to question her, but he just shook his head again. “Okay. Ann— Ada, I can’t, I can’t let Arthur go, I—”

“He won’t be able to live with himself if you don’t, John.”

John pressed his lips together and she knew he couldn’t argue with that because if the roles were reversed...

Moving closer, she carefully wrapped her arms around him, being mindful of his shoulder, and sniffed quietly. “Be safe, John. Get to your family.”

The hand of his good arm settled on her back and she felt him nod. “You, too. Look after him, please.”

“I will.”

Releasing each other, she gave him one last, soft smile.

“Goodbye, John.”

Turning, she followed after Arthur. She could hear him shouting at the Pinkertons far down below, firing and firing. Glancing over her shoulder as she climbed, she found the path empty, John having finally left. 

“God damn you bastards!”

She found him behind a rock, using it for cover. Ducking against one opposite, she met his gaze as he reloaded, his mouth in a thin line.

“Please go, sweetheart.” He pleaded with her, but there was an edge of resignation in his tone because he already knew the answer.

Licking her lips, she squared her shoulders as the corners of her mouth lifted.

“You first.”

Raising the gun over the rock, she fired at the Pinkertons coming up the cliff.

Whatever sacrifice Arthur was wanting to make, she wasn’t going to allow him the opportunity. With that wound in his arm he should be fine for a little while longer, and he seemed to be firing fine. They’d deal with these men, and then she would make him turn and run. They’d have bought John enough time by then, in this dark and mist he could get himself gone easily.

Men were continuing up the hill but they were tripping and sliding from the steepness, and she and Arthur were quicker shots.

Hope, small and hesitant, started to build inside her. They were doing it. They were okay. The men were lessening, the sound of gunfire quietening. Maybe these were the only men after them, the others perhaps chasing Dutch through the caves or through the trees.

She didn’t dare to fully believe it until Arthur shot the last man.

Stilling, they both strained to hear, listening out for any more boots on stone.

Nothing. Silence.

Her shoulders dropping, Ada leaned against the rock, slightly breathless.

They’d done it.

Looking over at him, she instantly met his gaze, his lips parted, the corners lifted. She gave him her own, relieved smile, swallowing.

They’d done it.

Rising to his feet, he gazed down the cliff, confirming there were no more men, then looked to her.

“Well. I think we—”

It happened so quickly. One moment she was gazing at him, relief overwhelming her, and then he was falling.

Micah had lunged from behind them and grabbed him, knocking him to the ground, and she watched in horror as they tumbled down the cliff.

“ _Arthur!_ ” she screamed, the sharp edges of the rock biting into her palms as she gripped at it to push herself up.

She didn’t have the chance to.

A hand grabbed at her hair and she cried out as her scalp screamed in pain. The Repeater dropping from her hands as they shot up, reaching up to try and claw at the person, she was just hauled backwards, crying out again as pain spread across her scalp.

“ _Let me go!_ ”

“I don’t think so, miss.”

_Oh, fuck._

She gasped as she was pulled up by her hair, and then the grip was gone briefly before she was spun and the hand gripped her throat. Ada met the gaze of Dutch van der Linde, his eyes staring, features calm, unscathed.

She could hear Arthur and Micah yelling at each other below, fists hitting flesh and bone.

“ _Let me go_ ,” she hissed again, trying to pull back but his grip only tightened as he huffed out a faint laugh.

“No, I won’t.”

Even as she gasped for breath, she pushed at him and struggled. “Stop it, he’s going to kill him, he’s going to—” 

“ _Dutch van der Linde!_ ”

Both of them turned their heads, Dutch drawing a gun, Ada’s heart stopping.

_Oh, no. Oh, no, please, no..._

Turning her head, she watched her brother stride down the path towards them; cream shirt rumpled, hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes, it was like he hadn’t slept in days. He raised his Revolver and aimed it at Dutch as he came to a stop, the other man aiming at him.

“Thom,” she gasped, gripping tightly at Dutch’s arm.

Arching an eyebrow, the older man looked to her. “Who’s this?”

“You don’t remember us, do you, Dutch?” Thom snarled, and she could see his hand was shaking slightly.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, son.”

Thom’s lip curled. “We’re Michael O’Driscoll’s children. She’s Adaline O’Driscoll and if you don’t get your hands off of her I’m going to kill you.”

_Oh my God._

A coldness swept over her as her eyes darted to Dutch.

It was finally exposed. Her secret was out in the world and the man she feared most had heard it.

Dutch’s gaze slid to her, held hers for a few, long moments, then travelled back to Thom.

The corners of his mouth lifted.

“Well, I’m sorry to take the wind out of your sails, son, but I know that.”

* * *

“I got you now, cowpoke!” Micah yelled with a grin as he stood over him, gripping the front of his shirt and raising his fist.

“You _rat!_ ” Arthur hissed, before his head was knocked back as Micah’s fist connected with his face.

“I’m a survivor, Morgan!” He punched him again, and Arthur tasted blood. “A survivor!” He punched him again. “That’s all there is! Livin’ and dyin’!”

Arthur grabbed his shoulders and yelled out as he used all his energy and strength to shove him over. Rolling with him, they tumbled over a ledge and both grunted and cried out as they landed, Micah rolling away.

Gasping for breath, winded, every part of Arthur’s body hurt as he lay on his back, but, thank _God_ , he couldn’t feel anything broken. Micah was wheezing a few feet away, and Arthur hissed as he turned over, pushing himself up onto his feet. He was going to kill this fucking bastard if it was the last thing he did on this earth.

Micah stumbled to his feet, too, and lunged for him again, grabbing the lapels of his jacket. They grappled as Arthur grit his teeth, trying to block Micah’s blows as well as deliver some of his own, though a quick punch to his stomach had him wheezing, Micah chuckling.

“Oohh, Morgan, you don’t know how much I’ve longed to do this—”

Arthur’s fist collided with his face, then again, and again, and again, returning the blows he had received. Micah grunted and groaned, moving backwards with the force. Grabbing him by the throat, Arthur then hurled him behind him, Micah losing his footing and stumbling. Spitting out blood, the blond man got to his feet quickly, scrambling up.

“You weak _fool._ ”

“Can’t you see I’ve won?” Arthur said breathlessly, finding himself smiling because he _had_. “Dutch ain’t gonna believe you no more!”

Micah yelled savagely as he lunged for him.

* * *

Michael O’Driscoll’s only children stared at their father’s murderer.

Dutch’s smile lingered as he looked between them. “You were both there that night, weren’t you. I knew we shouldn’t have left witnesses.” He nodded at Thom. “That makes you Thomas. I never forget a name. Especially when a man’s screaming it.”

“You bastard—” Ada started to hiss, Thom just staring at him, his hand now shaking violently.

Dutch tightened his fingers around her throat, silencing her as he looked at her. “And you are a little Judas, aren’t you. Have you been talkin’ with the Pinkertons all this time, hm? Wantin’ to get revenge on me?"

“No,” she gasped, gripping at his wrist. “Micah has and you believe it.”

He just gazed at her, expressionless. “Hm.”

Her tongue darting out over her lips, she inhaled a breath as his grip relaxed just a little. “How long have you known who I am?”

Dutch tilted his head, exhaling another faint chuckle as he glanced at Thom, the younger man not moving. “Couple of months.”

She wanted to be sick.

“When you first came to us, I was just curious. I knew there was more to you than you were sayin’ so I asked Arthur to keep an eye on you, but then he was distracted by our business, and by you, I quickly saw, so I asked Molly to.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“She’s good at gettin’ information, well, used to be. She even went so far as to sleep with Colm, though he gave nothin’ away.” He smiled. “Nice to know he was loyal to somethin’. Some of his other men weren’t so tight-lipped when she got ‘em drunk, though. Told her about how Colm was after his niece after years of silence, how she was with their rival gang and that it was a personal insult and, boy, were they gonna get her back by any means necessary, and they tried to, didn’t they.”

Her teeth were gritted as she blinked the tears from her eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything, to the gang.”

“Micah knows. Told him a little while ago. Was pretty hard convincin’ him to keep that to himself but he saw my reasoning. As for the others...” His eyebrows raised slightly as he shrugged. “You appeared to be no threat. Your story matched what the papers said about Strawberry, and Molly discovered from his boys you wanted nothing to do with your uncle, so... I liked having that little card in my hand, tucked away for just in case.” His expression darkened as he released a sigh, tilting his head again. “And then everyone started to like you, and you got cosy, made friends, got in real close. Got Arthur. I knew I’d let it become worthless, then. Especially when I got back from Guarma and everybody just loved you, didn’t they. Their saviour. Knew no one would believe me or maybe even care. And then when Molly just went and blurted it out, I thought I could be rid of you then but... nobody said a thing. I saw ‘em stare, but... whether they believed it or not, they just didn’t care.” His tongue glided over his lips as his thumb pressed into her skin a little harder. “Micah told me, too, about you havin’ the prints of the bank and lyin’ to me about ‘em. I thought you’d been the one to tell. Thought you did it maybe in trade to get you and Arthur out, cut a deal. I wanted to kill you, but then we had to move and then Molly said all that and... guess her love for me ran out.”

Ada swallowed hard, managing to take in a few breaths. “She didn’t tell them—”

“You know...” He spoke as if she hadn’t said a thing. “... I really thought you would calm him down. Arthur. I thought you would placate him and he you. I’d hoped you’d get lost in one another, want to pursue the means to a better life for each other. I thought you might settle him to stay, I thought he might settle you, too. But then I started to catch the way you’d look at me, Miss Adaline, and you turned his head so completely from me—”

“You did that all on your own—”

He shook her slightly, making her gasp. “I’ve been trying to get us a better life—”

“ _What_ better life, Dutch? Tahiti?”

“Possibly.”

She breathed out a faint, incredulous laugh. “You’re insane. You’re delusional, everyone’s going to abandon you—”

She broke off with a cry as he shoved her away and she fell backwards, falling down the cliff.

“ _Ada!_ ” Thom yelled, “ _You son of a bitch!_ ”

And then she was falling over a ledge and she landed hard.

She heard then felt a rib or two fracture. Gasping in breaths, every one hurting like hell, her eyes wide, she fell onto her back, staring up at the dark sky. Her ears rang and pain ran through her entire body as tears raced down her cheeks. She could hear muffled sounds and her eyes rolled to the side, two shapes swimming into view. Blinking to clear her vision, she saw Micah and Arthur, punching one another, Arthur on his back on the ground.

“Stop...” she wheezed, her hearing rushing back, rolling onto her good side with a hissed, agonised sound.

A gun shot went off above.

Releasing a shuddering breath, she looked up as her features crumbled. “ _Thom!”_ she tried to yell, her voice cracking. No one answered.

Her chest heaved as her heart shattered, and she half-sobbed, half-gasped as she pushed herself up onto her knees, a hand resting on her side as she didn’t dare try to straighten properly, half-bent at the waist. Looking over to Arthur and Micah, she watched the former shove the latter off and then both of them lay there, coughing, exhausted, wounded.

Half-sobbing again, she met Arthur’s gaze, and sobbed once more. His face was bruised, blood was trickling out of his nose and mouth, and he looked so entirely exhausted. At meeting her gaze, though, he pressed his lips together and groaned as he hauled himself onto his front. She watched him crawl, every movement pained as Micah lay there, sucking in breaths and coughing. He wasn’t crawling towards her, though, he was heading to her right, but why...

She looked down and saw his gun a few feet away, her lips parting. He was closer, and Micah was suddenly on his feet, but Arthur was so close, his hand stretching out, and he was going to reach it and then his hand landed on it—

She hadn’t heard him approach.

Dutch’s boot settled on Arthur’s hand over the gun, and the younger man hissed out a breath.

All three of them looked at him, Micah swaying on his feet slightly, Ada on her knees, arm around herself, doubled over, Arthur lying on his front, panting.

He looked back at them all, features set, before his gaze dropped to the man before him. “It is over now, Arthur. It’s over.”

“Oh, Dutch...”

Her stomach dropped as her gaze darted to Arthur. He sounded so weak, so pained.

“... He’s a rat...” His head dropped down onto his arm and, God, he sounded just like a little boy pleading to his father. “... You know it, and I know it...”

“He’s lying...” Her eyes, full of tears, lifted to Micah, who was rubbing his shoulder with a wince, wheezing as he stepped closer. “... He’s dying...” The tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked to Arthur, her heart pounding because he _couldn’t_ be, but he looked so weakened... “... He’s talkin’ crazy.”

“Find them!” a distant, unfamiliar voice shouted, and she swallowed hard.

Pinkertons were coming for them again. They _had_ to leave.

“He’s not lying, Dutch...” she whispered, not trusting the strength of her own voice, and Dutch’s gaze met hers. “... He’s not.”

Micah scoffed. “’cause you’ve always told the truth, haven’t you, sweetheart?”

She just held Dutch’s gaze, her chin trembling. “He’s not.”

“I gave you...” All of them looked to Arthur as he murmured to Dutch, “... all I had. I did.”

Dutch gazed down at him, his lips parting. “I...” He moved his boot off of Arthur’s hand and he released a breath, rolling onto his back with a quiet hiss. Dutch couldn’t look away from him. “I...”

“C’mon,” Micah said gently, bending with a wince to pick his own gun up. “Dutch...” He took a few steps closer, holstering his gun. “Let’s go, buddy. We made it. We won.” He was smiling widely, pointing down the cliff behind him. “C’mon!”

Her eyes darted between them, not daring to move to Arthur in case it triggered them to do something. Dutch was expressionless, looking at Micah.

“John made it...” Arthur revelled in every, pained word, holding Dutch’s gaze as he looked to him, the man moving closer. “... He’s the only one... Rest of us, no... but... I tried... In the end... I did...”

She realised she was weeping, silently, but the tears were falling thick and fast down her cheeks as she looked at him. It sounded like... This... This sounded like final words...

He drew in such a weak, wheezing breath that she started to tremble.

“C’mon...” Micah beckoned Dutch again, “Let’s go. We can _make_ it.”

Ada swallowed a sob as she looked to them. She was about to beg them both to leave, to promise anything, was about to inch her way towards Arthur, when Dutch started moving, backwards, away from Micah.

She and the blond man stared at him.

Micah scoffed quietly, in disbelief. “C’mon, Dutch...”

Dutch turned away and walked back up the path.

“Come _on!_ ” Micah shouted through gritted teeth.

Dutch van der Linde didn’t look back, and he disappeared out of sight.

Micah released a yell of frustration, turning away, his hands curling into fists. She took the opportunity, pushing herself up with a gasped wince and moving towards Arthur, sniffing as tears continued to fall.

“Now where are you goin’?”

She froze at the ‘clicking’ of a gun. Turning her head, she found Micah aiming his gun at her, anger in his eyes but a smile on his lips.

Ada sniffed again and licked her dry lips. “You should go, Micah, before the Pinkertons get here.”

She felt each laboured breath Arthur took, and when she glanced down at him, his eyes were closed.

_No, no, no, no..._

Micah shrugged. “Guess I should.” He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. “You know, you owe me, woman.”

She released a breathy scoff, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t owe you for anything.”

“Oh, ho, yeah, you do.” His smile had widened. “If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have met up with big brother.”

She stared at him. “... What?”

“I gave you over to those Murfree’s like a pretty little package. Well, granted, I didn’t know Colm was actually gonna be around and come along and save you, apparently, but ain’t it funny how life works out?”

“You’re a _bastard_.”

“And I knew you were bad news from the start.” He huffed out a laugh, taking a step closer. “Prissy little miss, too good for everybody. ‘xcept Arthur, but I ain’t got all the time in the world to figure that one out.” As he moved closer, she took a step back, towards Arthur, and he raised the gun a little higher, arching an eyebrow. “Ah, ah, ah... Stay there, darlin’.”

She tried to take in a deep enough breath to stop her heart from racing, her ribs throbbing. She tried to think quickly, tried to think if she could lunge for him or for his gun. Maybe even wait for the fucking Pinkertons. She needed to buy herself some time. 

“How do you know about Thom?”

He smiled like he had been waiting for this. “Dutch wanted me to go into Saint Denis the night before Colm swung, see if his boys were there, and I’m real good at making friends. We got talkin’.” He chuckled again, though it was accompanied with a wince. “I heard _you_ talkin’, talkin’ about those bank documents with Arthur. Those men are dead ‘cause of you.”

The need for a plan exited her mind as rage overtook her, her jaw moving. “No, they’re not.”

“Yeah, they are. Good men, I really did genuinely think it was a shame. I think we all miss young Lenny the most though.”

“Stop it—”

“So young, Hosea had lived his life, but Lenny, Lenny was just gettin’ started.”

“ _Stop it,_ Micah—”

“How often do you think about it?”

“Please—”

“Go on, tell me—”

“Why don’t you just _go_ , save yourself like you always do.” Her tears were visible in her voice now, it shaking and cracking.

He shrugged, smiling. “Can’t risk any of you comin’ after me.”

She shook her head, pressing her hands together. “We won’t come after you, we’re done with this, I promise you—”

“Now why don’t I believe that—”

“Ada!”

Micah instinctively pointed the gun behind her and she turned her head in the same moment, and saw her brother. Thom was running down the path, no bullet wound to be seen anywhere.

Relief overwhelmed her... and it was the distraction she needed.

As Micah focused on Thom, his finger pulling down on the trigger, she lunged for him. Her torso screamed at her in protest but she gripped his hand and shoved the gun into the air as his eyes widened and he pulled the trigger. The bullet flew into the sky.

“Get off me, you little bitch,” he seethed, but she just held onto his hand, gritting her teeth as she tried to wrestle the gun off of him. His free hand grabbed at her hair and he yanked her head back, making her cry out. “Get _off_ —”

He broke off with a choke and released her hair. Her head tilting down, she watched as Thom, his arm wrapped around Micah’s neck, hauled the man back, her hands dropping from him.

“Drop the gun or I’ll break your fuckin’ neck,” Thom murmured, Micah’s free hand clawing at his arm as he spluttered.

“Who the fuck... are you...” he choked out, trying to hit at his arm but Thom just tightened it.

His bruised and bloody face going red, after a few moments Micah finally dropped the gun.

Ada moved forward as quickly as her ribs would allow and bent down, picking it up—

Micah’s boot struck out, colliding with her face. Her legs giving out, her face throbbing, she, mercifully, fell onto her good side, but the jolt of the landing still had her torso rattling, a jagged cry escaping her as pain flashed through her.

Releasing a yell, Micah shoved himself back, forcing Thom backwards and an elbow to his side making his grip loosen. It was enough for Micah to break free and Ada sucked in a painful breath as she watched them grapple.

Micah had rage to spare in him to fuel him but he was tired and weakened, and Thom was stronger and taller. He could block every punch thrown and deliver almighty ones.

“Ada...”

Her head swung to him at his voice. Arthur was looking at her, his head slightly raised from the floor, breathing ragged, and he pointed behind her. She followed the direction, and saw Micah’s gun. Her hand darted out.

Thom was gripping Micah’s face, his other fist driving into his stomach. Micah was spitting out blood, groaning. Releasing him, before he could even begin to recover Thom slammed his fist under his chin. Tripping backwards, Micah coughed, blood spilling out of his mouth.

“Micah.”

His eyes shifted up.

A gunshot went off.

She didn’t know where the bullet landed exactly but his right shoulder was knocked back by the force, his feet stumbling backwards, and, his head lifting, the last thing Micah Bell saw before he fell was Ada O’Driscoll pointing a gun at him, fire blazing in her eyes.

He fell without a sound, and all she could hear was her own breathing. Lowering the gun, she stared at the spot where he had been for a moment... and then it came crashing back to her.

Dropping the gun, she turned and ran. Falling to her knees beside Arthur, not caring that her ribs were so painful, she released a sob as she took him in. He was battered and bruised, parts of his skin already dark and purple. His lip was split and there was some blood at the corners of his mouth. His jacket was stained red from where his bullet wound was still bleeding. She hoped to _God_ the bullet had gone clean through.

“Oh my God, my love...” One hand settled on the back of his head, cradling it, as her other touched his face gently, her hands shaking. “Arthur... Stay with me, all right, keep your eyes open, please.”

His eyes were heavily lidded but on her, his breaths rattling in his throat. “You got ‘im?”

She nodded as she swallowed hard, managing a faint smile. “Yeah, we got Micah.”

“Good... John’s gonna be safe now...”

“Mhm...” Her tears dripped down onto his shirt as her finger tips carefully caressed his cheek. “And Abigail and Jack, and Sadie and Tilly. We’re going to be, too, all right?”

A corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. “Don’t know about that, sweetheart...”

Her chin trembled as she shook her head, licking her lips. “Don’t say that. Don’t say that, all right, you made a vow to me, so you keep your eyes open, please, Arthur, we just have to get up, Thom’s here, he can help, if we just—”

“Oh, darlin’... Don’t think I can...” He was gazing at her, breaths shallower, trying so hard to keep his eyes open.

Her features crumbling, a sob escaped her as her thumb brushed against his tender cheekbone. “I don’t want to live without you, though.”

Arthur’s hand shifted up on his body, his thumb brushing against her arm. “I love you, darlin’.”

“I love you, too.” Her voice cracked and another sob left her. Taking in a shuddering breath, she turned her head to Thom, her brother stood watching them sombrely. “Thom, have you got a horse? Can you help me get him up? There should be horses around—”

“Ada...”

She looked down at Arthur as he shook his head slightly, his hand sliding up to rest over hers. “It’s all righ’... It’s okay...”

Shaking her head, she was sobbing now. “N-No, no, just keep your eyes open for me, all right, we can get you up, Thom can carry you—”

“Ada...” Thom murmured her name softly as he moved behind her, his hands on her biceps as he started to lift her gently.

“ _No_.” Pulling out of his grip, she held onto Arthur, hardly able to breathe. “You have to get up, all right, my love? The Pinkertons are coming, and we can get away—”

“I love you, Ada...”

“— and you’re going to be okay, you’re not going to leave me, you can’t—”

She broke off and stopped breathing as his eyes closed.

“Arthur...”

He didn’t respond.

_“Arthur,”_ she hissed through her tears, shaking him gently.

He didn’t move.

She stared at him, unable to take a breath.

“No... Oh, no, no, no... _No._..” Tears poured down her cheeks as she cried out, cupping his face, her heart shattering, and she stared at him, sobs wracking her body.

She barely felt Thom’s gentle hand on her shoulder nor the cold wind, nor noticed the moon shining down on the silent night.


	24. Newfields Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

**Seven Years Later**

John Marston smiled. _Really_ smiled. Hell, it was probably the first time he’d smiled properly in months.

Sadie Adler was alive and well. More than well, she was practically setting the world to rights by herself.

He let his horse, Rachel, walk idly down the dusty path towards Emerald Ranch. There were plenty of hours and light left in the day and he wanted to wallow in his good mood.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. Sadie hadn’t changed one bit, maybe except for being a little more confident, if that was possible. She was also a bounty hunter to boot _and_ she’d invited him to join her if he needed the money, which he desperately did. Sure, he’d taken out a loan to buy Beecher’s Hope for Abigail and get the run-down place built up nice for her, but he needed money for the other stuff like furniture, animals, even food, for Christ’s sake. All he, Charles and Uncle were eating was whatever he and Charles caught, washed down with Uncle’s never-ending stash of whisky, which was all he contributed.

He was trying to be kinder to the old man, though, after his encounter with the Skinner Brothers, and he’d also been the one to spot the advertisement in the paper.

> _WORN BUT STURDY FURNITURE FOR SALE_

> _EMERALD RANCH_

> _$100 FOR THE LOT. ANSWER TO BUY_

He’d written, expecting it to already be gone but he’d received a letter in reply saying it was all his so he’d headed out this morning, the last of his money in his pocket. The empty wagon rumbled along and he felt content. Once the furniture was in the house, Abigail and Jack would come back to him, he knew it. He’d already written to them at the boarding house they were staying at, telling them of all he’d done, of what he’d built for them with the help of Charles and Uncle, well, just Charles. They’d come back, move in and it would all be okay, and Sadie could come and visit and they could stay _put_. He was tired of all the moving and running they felt they still had to do, even after all this time. It was nice to now have a place of his own, a home.

A flock of birds soared across the clear blue sky and his eyes followed them, watching them fly over the rooves of the buildings that made up Emerald Ranch. It had been around for some time and you could see that in its fading paint and the well-worn paths, yet it was one of the most successful farms in the area. He hoped his own ranch would do even half as well, whatever he decided to do. Grow crops? Have cattle and sheep? Ah, well, Abigail could decide that, he’d be happy with whatever she wanted, just as long as she and the boy were there.

He steered the wagon towards a barn at the rear of the property, just as the letter had instructed, and a man rose from a chair, beckoning him closer and then raising his palm a few moments later to get him to stop. Pulling Rachel to a halt, he released the reins and jumped down from the wagon, the blond-haired man approaching him.

“You Jim Milton?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Hey, how are ya, I’m Nathaniel.”

He shook the man’s offered hand with a nod. “Nice to meet you, Nathaniel.” Releasing his hand, he gestured at the pile of furniture beside the barn, his other hand going to his hip. “This the lot?”

“Yep. I meant it when I said worn but it’s still good.”

“Nah, it’s perfect, thank you.” John’s gaze roamed over the long table, the chairs, the sofas, even a large cabinet, a few tears and holes here and there but nothing he and Charles couldn’t patch up.

“All right, you got the money?”

“Yes, sir.” Pulling a few notes out of his pocket, he handed them to him and after Nathaniel had counted and was satisfied, he raised his head and whistled.

“C’mon, boys, give us a hand here.”

Three men and Nathaniel helped him load the wagon, unearthing a couple of tattered rugs underneath the table which he was pleased about. With a good wash the colour should come through better and brighten the place up a bit.

“You just got a place, then, Jim?” Nathaniel asked, helping one of the men push one of the rugs up for John, standing in the wagon, to pull in.

John grunted quietly as he lifted the rug and slotted it against the cabinet. “Yeah, just built it. It’s in West Elizabeth.”

“Good for you.” Nathaniel stepped out of the way as John dropped down, brushing his hands together. “You gonna sell it or keep it?”

“Keep it, I got a family.”

“That’s nice to hear.”

They carried a chair over together, John nodding towards the property. “How long you been here?”

“I took over the place from the old feller who lived here a few years ago. He wanted to retire and I knew him through a friend of a friend.” Nathaniel paused as they lifted the chair into the wagon, one of the men positioning it for them. “I couldn’t agree fast enough, I love it here. Got my wife and sons with me, money comin’ in, food on the table, that’s all I need.”

“I hear you. That’s the kind of life I want.”

_The one we fought so hard for._

Once all the pieces were safely stored in the wagon, John nodded at the men who had helped as they bade him farewell and headed back to their tasks.

“Thank you, Jim,” Nathaniel smiled as he leaned against the wagon, wiping his brow. “We’ve had this stuff lyin’ around for a while, my wife’ll be happy it’s finally gone.”

“Oh, believe me, you’re the one doin’ me the favour here.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Nathaniel pointed up towards a white house. “You want anythin’ else before you go? Cup of coffee, bowl of stew?”

John shook his head, smiling gratefully. “Nah, thank you, but that’s kind. Oh, actually... “ He rubbed at his jaw just before Nathaniel was about to step away. “You got curtains or anythin’ like that?”

“We don’t, I’m afraid, but the woman who lives up at Newfields makes ‘em.”

He raised his eyebrows, shrugging faintly. “Newfields?”

Nathaniel pointed behind him. “Just head east down that road and you’ll see it, it ain’t too far.”

“All right, thank you very much, Nathaniel.”

He offered his hand to him with a smile, and shook it firmly.

“No problem, Jim. It was very nice to meet you.”

Nathaniel waved him off as he urged Rachel on, heading west but planning on rounding the ranch. He wasn’t going to take any chances of ruining the furniture by trying to turn the wagon around here. A woman who must have been Nathaniel’s wife waved at him from the white house as he passed, and he waved back with a smile. Folk were nice out here.

Trundling along the dirt path, he headed east and saw in the near distance a collection of tall trees and a house on a small incline. He saw as he neared that smoke was gently rising out of a chimney and there was the faint sound of horses. A main path ran in front of it, parallel to a train track, and the archway above the entrance read, ‘NEWFIELDS REST’. The brown house beyond it was nicely size, built from wood with a stone chimney and a quaint porch, two rocking chairs on it. Flowers lined the porch, yellow and red and pink, and the wood was painted white.

To the right of the house was a sizeable paddock, three horses in it, grazing, and to the left was a pen with two goats, a pig and some chickens.

Turning the wagon down the path towards the house, feminine laughter drew his attention to three people by the paddock. 

A dark-haired man and woman crouched a short distance from it, the man murmuring to a brown-haired, giggling child of about four or five, the three of them watching as the woman threw a stick a dog had just retrieved. The Australian Shepherd raced after it, making the little girl giggle again, the man and woman smiling widely.

It made him smile, and he was about to call out a greeting to them when gentle, quiet singing came from the porch, and he looked towards it

A woman stepped through the open front door, wiping her hands with the apron tied around her waist. Her copper curls fell to just above her shoulders and—

He jerked, pulling hard at the reins and Rachel snorted her disapproval at the abruptness.

He stared.

The copper-haired woman had smiled at the people and the dog before the sound of the horse caught her attention. She looked up, met his gaze, and froze, her hands in mid-air.

They stared at each other.

His heart was pounding. His eyes darted over every inch of her features because it couldn’t be...

Swallowing hard, he released the reins and stepped down from the wagon in the same moment that she moved towards him, wetness glinting on her cheeks.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the dark-haired man sweep the little girl up into his arms as he and the woman beside him straightened, watching.

“Oh my God, oh my God...”

As the distance between them closed, she suddenly stopped before him, her hands coming up and cupping his face. He gazed down at her, watching her eyes flick over his features, taking him all in.

“John, oh my God...” Ada breathed, and then she threw her arms around him, and she embraced him so tightly he could practically feel her heart thudding against her ribcage.

His arms wrapped around her as his chin rested on her shoulder, and he held her just as tight.

“Ada, my God...” he murmured. A corner of his mouth quirked up as he raised his eyebrows slightly. “It is Ada still, ain’t it? Not Annie?”

“Yes, it is,” she laughed even as she cried, and released him just to cup his face again, beaming. “Look at you! You’ve cut your hair!”

He chuckled, his hands resting on her waist. “So have you.”

She laughed again, shaking her head as her eyes shone. “What the hell are you doing here, John?! How are you?” Her features fell swiftly before he could even get a word in. “Are Abigail and Jack okay? What happened after the mountain?”

John was nodding, a light smile on his lips as he patted her waist gently. “They’re fine, they’re fine, I swear, we’re all good, we—”

“Sweetheart, what in the hell have you bought more damn furniture for?”

John froze, staring at Ada, watching as, at the sound of the voice, that familiar, long lost voice, her features crumbled even as she smiled at him and a fresh wave of tears came. She released him and he turned, time seeming to slow.

Lifting his gaze, he watched a man, his brown hair short under his hat, beard trimmed, ride around the wagon on a grey horse, looking it up and down.

“You lookin’ to get into carpentry now? There ain’t a whole lot of good, here.” The corners of his mouth were turned down, summing up his judgement of the items, and when she didn’t answer him, his eyebrows raised and he looked over at her.

He stilled, however, pulling the horse to a halt, when he locked eyes with John.

John realised he’d forgotten to breathe. He could do nothing else but look at the man.

The man was staring, too. Swinging his leg over the horse’s head, he slid down from the saddle, his head shaking slightly.

Then, they were moving towards each other, the man quickening his strides.

“John Marston...” the man murmured, his voice breaking.

Before John could say a word, Arthur Morgan gripped his shoulder and pulled him into an embrace so tight his bones creaked but he didn’t care. He gripped at him just as tightly, his eyes closing.

“I thought you were dead... They said you were dead...” he heard himself say, incredulous.

“Well, we ain’t. Obviously...” Arthur gave a watery chuckle as he pulled back, keeping a hand on his shoulder as he inspected him.

John knew his eyes were wide, his lips parted as he stared back. Arthur was alive. He was fine. Older, a light speckling of grey starting at his sideburns and in some areas of his beard, but _fine_. _Alive_.

“I don’t... I don’t believe it...” John had to blink to clear his vision, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I’m here, John, I’m here. I don’t know how, but... I’m here.” Arthur squeezed his shoulder before dropping his hand, his smile widening as they both chuckled.

“But I don’t... What in the _hell_ happened?” John looked between the two of them as Ada came to Arthur’s side, her smile so wide her cheeks must have been hurting.

The couple glanced at one another, and as Ada tucked a curl behind her ear John noticed a gold band glinting on the fourth finger of her left hand.

_Well, I’ll be damned..._

He returned his gaze to her as she spoke, his heart so full of joy.

Her smile had softened, her hands clasped together. “Do you want to come inside, if you have the time? I think we’ve got quite a bit of catching up to do.”

“Yeah, that we do,” he chuckled. _Hell, do we._ “Yes, please.”

“Guess I better get a large pot of coffee on, then—”

“Mama, who is he?”

Looking down at the voice, John found the little girl standing beside him, gazing up at him, having silently slipped out of the man’s arms and approached, a teddy bear with several patches sewn on it held in her hand.

_God damn..._

Not the other couple’s, then... both of whom were watching them all quietly, the woman holding the man’s arm, rubbing it gently.

“This is your Uncle John, sweetheart,” Ada told her, sniffing and wiping her cheeks before she reached for the girl, picking her up and settling her on her hip.

John studied her, her brown, wavy hair, half of it tied back with a blue ribbon, her green eyes, her curious stare.

“Nice to meet you...”

“Amelia,” the little girl said as Ada opened her mouth to answer.

Smiling warmly, John nodded. “Amelia.”

Ada pressed a kiss to her temple as she went quiet, looking him up and down as she held the teddy bear in both hands.

Her mother sniffed again, and looked to John. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”

John thought he saw Arthur wiping at his face as they turned towards the house. He was about to remark on the excellent quality and build of it, because he’d somehow become an expert in that type of thing, when Ada paused, exhaling a laugh.

“Sorry, John, I didn’t mean to leave them out, this is my brother, Thom, and his wife, Charlotte.”

They nodded at him as he tipped his head in greeting, Charlotte’s smile warm, Thom’s slight. Charlotte released his arm and stepped towards Ada, holding her arms out to Amelia.

“It’s lovely to meet you, John. Excuse us, though, we’ll keep Millie entertained out here, let you all catch up.”

“Can we keep playing with Chester?” Amelia asked, her features brightening.

“Of course we can, darling.”

John watched them turn and head back towards the paddock, Charlotte listening to Millie babble about how they could try and throw the stick into the sky and see if Chester could catch it, while Thom followed them silently, his shoulders stiff.

So, the brother Sadie had told him and Abigail about. He certainly wasn’t what he had expected.

John looked towards the house after a moment, about to continue on to it, when he met Ada’s gaze, her smile soft, faintly apologetic. 

“My brother’s not very good with new people,” she murmured, her hands clasped together again.

“I think we’ll get along well, then.”

She exhaled a laugh, tears still pricking at her eyes, and as she moved up onto the porch and into the house, he suddenly felt overwhelmed by his emotions. They didn’t just have a house, they had a _home_ , and he would soon have one, too.

He never thought it would all have come to something so happy and simple and peaceful as this.

Swallowing hard, trying to move the lump in his throat, he then felt an arm around his shoulders and looked up to find Arthur smiling, understanding shining in his eyes.

“It’s good to see you, brother.”

“You, too, Arthur. I can’t even begin to tell you how good it is, I...” He trailed off as Arthur nodded, his smile lingering.

“I know. I know.”

There was so much more John wanted to say in that moment as he heard his brother’s daughter laughing, heard his wife calling that she’d better get that good glassware out, huh, and gazed at the friend he’d thought he’d lost forever.

But there would be time for that.

They had time now.

Peaceful, contented, joyful time.


	25. Old Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

**A Week Later**

Ada knew she’d checked their saddle bags. She knew she had. Four times.

But she just needed to check them one more time.

Just in case.

Unbuckling one of the bags, she peered inside, counting how many small packages of food she’d wrapped.

Would a few more be a good idea? Just in case?

_There’s half of that loaf... They might not finish it before we come back, it’d be a waste... If we took some then—_

“You gonna do that for the hundred and sixteenth time?”

The corners of her mouth twitching, she looked over her shoulder at her husband, watching him approach with an eyebrow raised and a bedroll in his arms.

“I know, I know, I just... want to make sure.”

Arthur secured the bedroll on his horse, Titan, before turning to her, one side of his mouth lifting higher than the other as his features softened.

“I know.”

His arm went around her as he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, and her eyes closed, a long breath escaping her. She still couldn’t believe this was really happening. Neither of them could. Yet while she was excited, there was a slight twisting and aching in her stomach that just wouldn’t go away.

_What if we’ve all changed?_

“Papa! Mama!”

They turned their heads to watch their daughter race out of the house, her teddy, Ro, clutched in her hand. They smiled instantly, as they always did, at the sight of her. She raised her arms high and looked expectantly at her father who released Ada and reached down, lifting her into his arms with a quiet groan.

“Hey, sweetheart, you finish your breakfast?”

Millie nodded a few times. “Yeah. Aunt Charlotte said I could leave the table.”

“That’s good. Find your Ma’s chocolate and give yourself a piece for bein’ such a good girl.”

Millie giggled as Ada raised her eyebrows dramatically high and placed her hands on her hips, fixing her with a faux-stern look.

“No, you’re going to pretend you don’t know where I keep the chocolate still, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“There’s a good girl."

“So I get to have some? For being good?”

Arthur chuckled and raised an eyebrow as Ada opened then closed her mouth.

“I’d say that’s fair, wouldn’t you, Mama?”

Ada narrowed her eyes at him, looking between her husband and daughter and their innocent expressions.

_They look so damn alike._

Feigning a large, defeated sigh, she nodded as she tutted. “Fine, fine, _one_ piece, and ask Aunt Charlotte when you want it, all right?”

“Yes, Mama, I promise.”

Ada absolutely knew she would not ask. Glancing at Arthur, meeting his gaze, she knew he didn’t believe her either.

They shared a fond smile as Millie leaned her head against Arthur’s shoulder, holding Ro in both hands. “Papa?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are you going?”

“We told you, to see Uncle John.”

“Why can’t I come, he was funny.”

Ada glanced at Arthur again, licking her lips, before she looked to Millie, smiling warmly and rubbing her back gently.

“We know, darling, but it’s a long, long journey, longer than when we went to see Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Thom at their house.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t like it. When you’re bigger, though, we’ll go, I promise. Or maybe he’ll come here again.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, come here.” At her crestfallen look, Ada leaned closer and kissed her cheek over and over until Millie was giggling and hiding her face against Arthur’s shoulder.

Smiling widely, Ada ran her fingers through her brown waves before pressing a kiss to her head.

“What’re you gonna do while we’re away, huh?” Arthur asked, bouncing Millie a little as Ada checked Titan’s saddlebags.

“I’m gonna play with Chester and see where he hides things and I’m gonna help Uncle Thom with the horses.”

“Are you? That’s nice.”

“Yeah, then I’m gonna try and catch a butterfly again.”

“Yeah, you’re good at that, ain’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m really good.”

Ada smiled to herself as she listened to them, Millie starting to list all the colours of the butterflies she’d caught. She couldn’t count how many times she’d watched her daughter run up and down the path outside the porch trying to catch them, then come running in excitedly yelling when she carefully held one in her cupped hands.

“Are you ready?”

Lifting her head, she met Thom’s gaze as he strolled out from the house, hands in his pockets, his smile light. Raising her eyebrows a little, she nodded as she dropped her hands from the saddle.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Sliding an arm around her shoulder, he pulled her a little closer, his smile widening a touch.

“You feeling okay?”

She just looked at him.

He exhaled a laugh as he squeezed her gently. “All right, say no more.”

Blowing out a breath, she placed a hand on his chest as she looked up at him. “So there should be enough food for you all, Millie might need a bath if she plays in the mud again, oh, and Nathaniel is gonna come up later to see if you need a hand with the horses, he might want to stay for a cup of coffee or perhaps something stronger, you know how he likes to have a good talk—”

“Ada, Ada,” Thom laughed gently, rubbing her arm as she blew out another breath. “We’re gonna be fine, and so will you. You’re only goin’ for a couple of days. Just enjoy your time with your friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I will.” Making herself widen her smile, she rose up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck.

They hugged each other tightly, his hand rubbing her back.

Closing her eyes for a few moments, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “Bye, I love you.”

“I love you, too. Have a good time.”

Pulling back, her smile softened. Tapping his cheek with her palm gently, she raised her eyebrows. “Don’t burn the house down.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Matching his smile for a few moments longer, she then turned her attention to Charlotte on the porch as Thom joined Arthur and Millie. The women smiled at one another as her arm went around Charlotte’s shoulders and the dark haired woman’s went around her waist. They watched the trio, both men listening patiently and fondly to Millie’s babbling.

“You’ll be back before you know it,” Charlotte murmured.

“I know,” Ada answered quietly, leaning her head against Charlotte’s. “I feel bad for wishing time away and just wanting it to be over, because I _am_ excited to see them all, I just...”

Her sister-in-law just rubbed her back as she trailed off, her anxieties left unspoken but understood.

Lifting her head, Ada turned her body and the women embraced, rocking from side to side slightly.

“We gotta go, Ada, time’s gettin’ on.”

At Arthur’s call, Ada drew back and returned Charlotte’s smile.

“We’ll be fine,” the other woman murmured, her lovely features reassuring.

“I know.”

Releasing her, Charlotte moved past her and kissed Arthur on the cheek as they said their goodbyes. Ada gazed at the house, her arms wrapping around herself. Turning away, she smiled widely as Millie reached her arms out to her. Closing the gap between them, she wrapped one arm around her and another around Arthur and closed her eyes.

“Bye, Mama.”

“Bye, sweetheart, I love you,” she murmured, swallowing the lump in her throat. Arthur was silent.

Neither of them could let go of her for a few moments.

When they did, Millie was passed to Thom and Arthur cleared his throat as he stepped back.

“All righ’. We’ll be back in a coupl’a days, probably early evenin’.” Looking at Millie, he raised his eyebrows even as he smiled. “You be good for your uncle and aunt, you hear?”

His daughter grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, Papa.”

“All righ’. I might bring you a treat back if you’re good, ‘cause I’ll know if you haven’t been, all righ’?”

“I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Okay, then.”

Ada swiftly smiled as Millie looked to her, and raised her eyebrows. “Keep doing your words and reading, okay?”

“I will, Mama.”

“Good. You’re getting so good at them.”

Swallowing hard, she turned a moment after Arthur did and mounted her piebald horse, Noka, while he mounted Titan. Gathering the reins, they waved as Thom, Charlotte and Millie did, urging their horses into a walk and onto the main path.

“Bye, Mama! Bye, Papa!”

“Goodbye, darling! We’ll be back soon!”

Ada didn’t look away until they were through the entrance archway and she’d watched Millie wiggle out of Thom’s arms and run after Chester. Looking ahead, she met Arthur’s gaze, her husband a little ahead of her.

“They’ll be okay,” he said, his features softening.

She nodded, taking a breath and making herself smile as she drew level with him.

“I know. She’ll probably have a grand old time without us, won’t she?”

“Oh, you bet. She’ll get all the chocolate she wants, she’ll get to stay up late, Thom’ll let her sit on Mags with him. She’ll forget all about us, probably already has.”

She laughed as they rode down the path towards Emerald Ranch, Arthur looking over at her and smiling. He was trying to repel his own anxieties, quietly, so it was good to make her laugh and relax. Well, he knew neither of them would relax until they were back home, but be reassured, maybe. It had been nearly three years, and he was counting, since they’d encountered any trouble. They were on good land, now, with regular patrols from local law enforcement, so he knew they would be okay. It didn’t make it any easier, though.

They stopped briefly at Emerald, not dismounting, to say goodbye to Nathaniel and Martha, both wishing them a safe travel.

And then they were off, heading out of the Ranch to the Heartlands. From pouring over his maps during the last few days, Arthur had estimated they’d be at Beecher’s Hope before sunset. It was going to the longest journey they’d done since before Millie was born, and he was both excited and nervous about it. They’d travelled some in the last few years, but what if the land had changed drastically? The world was getting smaller and smaller every day, that’s why he was glad they had so much open land at Newfields, but what if they encountered new towns? New settlements? Well, they’d probably be welcomed through them, unlike other places.

They knew without saying it to each other that they would be avoiding Valentine. It was too risky, even after all these years; small towns had long memories.

So, their journey would take them right across the Heartlands until they reached Dakota River.

“This is so strange.”

Glancing over at her, his smile returned.

“Bein’ out? Yeah, it is.”

“When was the last time we did this?”

“Years, I’d say.” Rolling his shoulders, he looked back over at her. “You remember that lake we found? Up by the mountains?”

Her lips twitched as she side-eyed him. “Oh, I remember.”

He had to stop his own smile as he shook his head. “You devil-woman, I was thinkin’ about how pretty it was.”

“It wasn’t the only thing you called pretty.”

“Christ’s sake...”

Her laugh carried across the fields as they road, Arthur prompting Titan into a canter with her following suit.

The weather was often temperamental across these lands, but it held for them today, the day dry and sunny though not too hot. They passed a few fellow travellers on their horses or wagons. They smiled and greeted one another, and they both got that twisting feeling in their stomach for a few moments as they went by, hoping they wouldn’t see recognition flash across their faces or staring. They didn’t.

As they slowed near a train track around noon, Arthur gazed at the path across it.

“There’s a place near here where we stayed once. The gang, I mean.”

Looking to him, Ada raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah. Horseshoe Overlook.”

She looked at the path then back to him, slowing Noka a little more. “You want to go and see it?”

He smiled as he shook his head, meeting her gaze. “Nah. Just grass and trees.”

He’d rather see the people. A week on and he still couldn’t believe that they were going to. 

Ada had burst into tears when John had told them that Charles, Uncle and Sadie were alive and well. He’d had to wipe away a few tears of his own. They’d tried not to but every now and then, quietly, they’d whispered to one another late at night, wondering who was alive from that time. It had lessened over the years as they’d tried to look to the future, but the questions had always been there.

He was pulled from his thoughts when they arrived at a familiar sight on the Dakota River. A bridge towered over it, the river leading out to a lake, and as they crossed it, taking the shallower waters, it only rising half way up the horses legs at the deepest, Ada met his gaze.

“Shall we go and look at it?”

“Yeah.”

Lone Mule Stead had changed since her uncle had kidnapped them and held them there all those years ago. Smoke rose from the chimney, the window frames were painted white, and three children played outside, giggling and running. 

A man chopped wood nearby, sweat glistening on his brow, and as they passed he straightened and nodded at them. They smiled back. It had become a home, a far cry from the dilapidated, crumbling property it had once been. 

God, if only they’d known then.

The look Arthur gave her seemed to say as much, and she smiled.

A couple of hours later they stopped by a smaller river crossing high on a hill, letting the horses drink as they sat on the grass and ate some of what they’d packed.

He watched her, the light breeze, the air cooler now, blowing her hat-flattened curls about her neck. She caught him staring and he just leaned over and kissed her at her coy comment, not releasing her even as she laughed as three travellers passed nearby, the men smiling and shaking their heads.

She reached over and held his hand for a few minutes when they rode on, the hills quiet except for the few calls of birds. Strawberry was only an hour or two away, but she didn’t say a word and neither did he.

There was just hills and nature around them, maybe a few homes hidden amongst them and the trees but they never saw any. 

They were both silent when they passed a burned down Native American boarding school, the grass and land scorched, rooves of buildings caved in. It seemed like it had been this way for some time, months, maybe even years. Her gaze travelled over a graveyard they rode past, just wooden crosses, no names. The sight made her stomach turn and her heart ache. They’d have to write to Rains Fall soon, it had been a few weeks since they’d heard from him.

The path narrowed and she fell behind Arthur, letting him lead her down a slope to a pebbled bank of a river. Crossing it would take them into the Great Plains of West Elizabeth and to their friends.

The river was fast but shallow, and they let their horses walk idly across it.

“We should be close,” Arthur remarked, shifting in his saddle.

The nerves and excitement that had faded a little from the length of the journey were now returning for both of them, and she smiled at him as she exhaled a breath.

“Guess there’s no turning back now, huh?”

He snorted, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, a damn shame John knows where we live.”

Ada laughed, looking over at him to continue the joke that was easing some of her nerves, when she paused, pulling Noka to an abrupt halt as he did with Titan, staring at his suddenly wary expression. Following his gaze, she froze.

A man, hunched over, sat atop a horse. The bay horse walked as idly as they’d done moments before, blood that had trickled down it’s legs and neck staining it’s coat. The blood came from the countless arrows that were impaled through the man, who had to be dead.

“Shit...” Arthur hissed out quietly, his gaze lifting to the incline the horse had come down and the small cliffs above, trees dotted along them.

Reaching the water, the horse paused, lowering it’s neck to take a drink. Despite the movement the man remained in his position, stiff.

Ada had reached for a revolver on her belt, her fingers wrapping around it. Neither of them spoke, waiting and listening. John had told them of some trouble he had had with a sadistic gang called the Skinner Brothers, though he was convinced he and Charles had killed most of them and run the rest off. It seemed like some still lingered. 

All she could hear was the rushing of the water and the cry of a bird. She didn’t dare speak though because Arthur wasn’t, both of them uneasy. The man and his arrows seemed far too... orchestrated. Like a direct message was being sent, maybe not to them specifically but to anyone who found him. Maybe they were declaring their return. Exhaling a slow, quiet breath, she licked her lips.

“I think we—”

She ducked just in time.

The arrow had suddenly flown into her vision, coming out of nowhere, and she grabbed the pommel of her saddle with one hand, the other drawing her revolver as she swung to the side, one foot coming out of the stirrup.

“God damn it!” Arthur shouted, his own gun drawn, and he aimed at the closest tree, firing at it.

Straightening, Noka shifting uneasily under her, tossing her head and snorting, Ada kept a tight hold on the reins as her boot went back into the stirrup and she aimed with Arthur, firing at what she didn’t know. Then she saw him.

A man sat in the tree, dodging their bullets, a bow and arrow in his hands. He wasn’t saying a word.

“Shit!”

At Arthur’s cry, her eyes darted to him as she continued to fire, and her heart dropped as she saw another man trying to pull him from the saddle. Dropping Noka’s reins, tightening her legs around her, she drew her other revolver, aimed, and fired in seconds. The man fell back into the water with a quiet grunt. A whistle came from the cliffs and her head spun towards it, watching two more men appear, both holding bows and arrows. Why didn’t they have guns? From what she’d heard about them, they probably didn’t want to kill them just yet.

Just immobilise them so they could take them away to be tortured.

Arthur had drawn his other gun, too, and they both fired together, but the men were quick, ducking and dodging. And they were so _silent_ , too, it was unnerving. Noka and Titan were, while well trained, shifting nervously in the water, fighting their natural instincts to bolt at all the noise. 

The horse carrying the dead man was a completely different story. It raced past them with a scream, the man finally falling and joining Arthur’s attacker in the water, the bodies drifting down the river with the current.

Panic was starting to claw its way up her throat. She was going to have to reload any second now and the bullets were in her saddlebag and she wouldn’t be able to reach them without putting herself and Arthur in danger and then what if—

One of the men toppled forward suddenly as a gunshot rang out, falling down onto the rocky bank. Then the other man fell when another sound came. She and Arthur paused, watching as the final man then tumbled out of the tree with a cry.

Silence descended. Swallowing hard, she kept her eyes on the cliff, seeing Arthur shift in the corner of her eye.

A figure appeared at the top of the path and Ada held her breath, raising her gun.

“If you shoot me, lady, I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Ada’s heart soared and a wide smile broke across her features as she watched Sadie Adler tip her hat back and gaze down at them with a smile of her own.

“Oh my God!”

Holstering her guns, she kicked Noka into a trot, water splashing up onto her trousers as she grabbed the reins, and the moment her hooves reached the path, Ada slowed her and slid from the saddle.

Sadie walked towards her as Ada ran and when they reached one another they threw their arms around each other, Ada’s hat falling from her head while Sadie’s somehow stayed on.

“Oh my God! Sadie Adler!” she cried, tears filling her eyes as the blonde woman let out a thick laugh.

She realised it was the first time she’d ever hugged her friend and she wished she’d done it more.

“Hey, Ada. You’re lookin’ real well.”

Releasing her, Ada stared at her, her grin remaining as she exhaled a short breath. “Look at _you!_ You haven’t changed one bit!”

“Reckon you’ve got meaner, though.”

Sadie shifted her gaze to Arthur who had joined them, a smile in his tone, and she raised her eyebrows, her own smile lingering.

“I reckon maybe I have, Arthur Morgan. C’mere.”

They embraced and Sadie clapped him on the back. “Thought you were dead, you bastard.”

Arthur chuckled, tightening his hold on her for a moment before releasing her, standing back. “Nah, death ain’t got me yet.”

Sadie snorted, before her gaze returned to Ada, her smile faltering slightly though fondness shone in her eyes. “Thought you were dead, too.”

Ada shrugged, swallowing hard as she blinked some of the tears from her eyes. “Nope. Not yet either.”

“Y’all gonna stop yammerin’ so we can open the whisky?”

Neither of them were used to the sight of John Marston still, even though he’d sat at their kitchen table and talked for hours with them. Grinning, Ada laughed as she raised her hands before scooping her hat up. 

“Thank God, there’s alcohol. Lead the way!”

“And it better be the good stuff, Marston!”

John laughed at Arthur’s retort. “Ah, I’ve missed you, brother.”

Mounting Noka and Titan, they followed Sadie and John up the path, coming to their horses and waiting for them to mount up.

“We heard the gunfire from the porch,” John explained as he led them towards a main path, glancing over his shoulder. “They were them Skinner fellers I was tellin’ you about. Reckon that might be some of the last of ‘em.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Arthur replied, drawing level with him while Sadie fell into step with Ada. “They given you any more trouble?”

“Apart from just now? Nah, they’ve been real quiet. All we get ‘round here now is a couple of cougars and crows. We’re lucky.”

“You cut your hair,” Sadie remarked to her as John told Arthur all about the land, one hand holding the reins, the other on her thigh.

Ada smiled, raising her eyebrows a little. “Had to make my life a little easier, especially with the little one around.”

Sadie’s features softened instantly. “John told us about her. Congratulations to you, I mean it.”

“Thank you.” Ada could have burst into tears right there, her smile wide. “Oh, you’d love her, Sadie, and she’d love you.”

“Amelia’s her name, righ’?”

“Yeah, Amelia Victoria Morgan. We call her Millie.” 

The blonde woman raised her eyebrows, tilting her head. “So you and Arthur are officially married, huh?”

Ada laughed at Sadie’s smug expression, nodding as she raised her left hand. “Yeah, ring and all.”

“Congratulations, lady! I told you so.”

“I know, I know,” Ada laughed again, not even feeling that her cheeks were starting to hurt from all the smiling. It faltered, though, as she cleared her throat, adjusting her hat. “I thought about you, on the day. Thought about how you’d say just that and I wanted so badly to have you there.”

Sadie’s smile remained. “Well, ain’t no point wishin’ and hopin’. Things happened and now here we are. I can’t wait to hear about what the hell you two have got up to.”

“John didn’t tell you?”

“Nah, just sent me a very excited letter last week and told me to come to Beecher’s Hope today. Told me in it, too, that you two had survived and I damn near fell of my chair when I read that.” She laughed. “I suppose he told you about what I do now?” She continued at Ada’s nod, “Well, I tried to use my resources to find out what had happened to you both but nothin’ came up. Couple of ex-Pinkertons people I know spoke to just shrugged and said you had to be dead, your bodies either stuck in the rocks or taken down the river.” She shrugged. “I gave up after a while. No news ain’t exactly good for my temper.” 

Ada smiled lightly, reaching over and giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “Well, like you said, here we are now.”

They returned their attention to the men as John called to them, leading them under an archway and down a dusty path. Ada met Arthur’s gaze, smiles lifting their lips as they took in John’s home.

Beecher’s Hope was splendid; a large house with a porch that wrapped around it, a barn, a paddock, a bandstand, a couple of fires dotted around. It was a huge property, and her heart wanted to burst with pride and joy for him. 

“Christ, John,” Arthur murmured, whistling an impressed note. “You built all this?”

“With the help of Charles, and ‘supervision’ from Uncle.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Ada caught John’s pleased expression as he led them to a hitching post. She just wanted to cry all over again.

How lucky they all were.

“They’re here! Oh my God!”

At the familiar female voice, Ada’s gaze darted to the porch and there she found Abigail, waving and grinning, Uncle, rising from his chair with a woop, and Charles, his hands on his hips, smile wide.

That’s when the tears did come. Dismounting and removing her hat, not even bothering to tie the reins to the post, she and Arthur strode for the porch. Abigail, bursting into tears, went to Arthur, throwing her arms around him and crying out in delight. Ada found Charles before her first, his arms wrapping around her and lifting her off the floor. Laughing and crying, she embraced him tightly, her eyes closed.

As he set her down, Uncle gave her a big kiss on the cheek with a laugh before he clapped his hands together and went to Arthur, hugging him and Abigail.

“Hello, Ada,” Charles beamed, his hands on her shoulders.

“Hello, Charles,” she laughed, as it felt like it really was their first introduction with his use of her real name. If her cheeks were aching before, they were plain hurting now, and she didn’t care one bit. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you. I have many questions I—”

“ _Ada!_ ”

Abigail flung her arms around Ada as both women laughed, Charles breaking off with a smile.

“Oh, Ada, thank God! Thank _God!_ ” 

“It’s so wonderful to see you, Abigail,” Ada murmured against her shoulder as Arthur and Charles embraced beside them. 

“Good to see you, pal,” Arthur greeted him, wiping at his eyes with a grin.

“And you, Arthur, I just...” Shaking his head, Charles raised his eyebrows. “I can’t believe you’re both really here. All the things we heard...”

“Like what?”

“You were dead, Pinkertons had taken you, you were in prison, they’d taken you to another country, it...” He exhaled a heavy breath. “I didn’t know where to start looking for you.”

“You looked for us?”

“Of course.” Charles clapped him on the shoulder, his smile returning.

Arthur nodded, clearing his throat. “Well... We wanted to—”

“Jack!” Abigail finally released Ada and beamed at the brown haired boy who stepped out onto the porch, beckoning him down. “Look who it is! They came!”

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of him.

_Holy Christ..._

He was no longer the little boy. He had to be 13 now, maybe nearly 14, and he looked so much like John. As he moved down the steps, Arthur approached, his smile lingering. Jack looked up at him, quiet.

Clearing his throat again, Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You remember me?”

Jack nodded, and then extended his hand to him. “I do. It’s nice to see you again, sir.”

Arthur blinked, then exhaled a laugh a moment later. Gently pushing the boy’s hand aside, he enveloped him in a hug. Ada glanced at Charles, who just shrugged slightly as it took Jack a couple of moments to return the embrace. Arthur just laughed again and ruffled the boy’s hair as he drew back. That brought a smile from Jack, even though it was slight.

“Let’s get that whisky open, huh?” Arthur declared as Jack tried to fix his hair.

The small, delighted group made their way inside, Abigail looping her arm through Ada’s for a few moments before she was suddenly hurrying ahead to dart past John, who held the door open, and welcome them in with a huge beam. They all agreed that a tour of the house and property could be done later, all too excited to hear from Arthur and Ada. Sitting at a large table in the main room, Arthur and Ada commented on the beautiful furnishings as John and Charles brought out whisky, cups, and a plate of cheese and crackers from the kitchen, setting them down on the centre of the table.

The couple insisted on hearing about the others first, though, and the whisky was poured and drunk and the cheese and crackers were eaten as, John having told them about how he, Abigail and Jack had travelled around working here and there, and then Abigail had left with Jack after thinking John was returning to his old ways, they let Charles start first.

He told them of how he’d helped Rains Fall and his people moved to new land before returning to camp, how he’d found Susan dead and had buried her, and then heard in Annesburg what had happened on the mountain. He’d searched for them all, but they’d scattered far and wide, and he even lost contact with Rains Fall on his travels. Realising he wasn’t going to find anyone, he had to start working and had on ranches and farms but for little money due to his heritage. Finding his way back to Saint Denis he took up as a street fighter, boxing in fixed fights for a new criminal on the scene and taking whatever money he was given until John found him.

“Now,” he concluded with a smile, “I’m thinking of going up to Canada, finding some of my people and starting a family.”

Uncle went next, albeit briefly. He’d wandered around for a few years, going down to New Austin and even into Mexico for some time before heading back up north, drinking his way through towns until he, too, was found by John, in Blackwater. 

“I’ve just been livin’!” he laughed.

Then it was Sadie. After helping Abigail, Jack, Tilly and John get away, she stayed with the family as Tilly left them for Saint Denis until she, too, decided it was time to leave. She took up responding to wanted posters, hunting men and women down, and started to make a name for herself which allowed her to charge more. Now, she was one of the best in the country, in her opinion, and was well respected. She had no fixed address, but that suited her just fine.

“This country is big and wide, and I don’t mind seein’ it all.”

As she finished, their eyes turned to Arthur and Ada.

“So?” Sadie prompted impatiently, a smile pulling at her lips. “What happened with you two?”

Ada glanced at Arthur beside her, meeting his gaze. He lifted his fingers from the table slightly, indicating for her to tell them. Licking her lips, she rested her hands on the table. She could still remember it all like it was yesterday. Flashes of it returning every now and then in her sleep or when her mind wandered.

“Well... After John went, Arthur and I stayed on the mountain to hold the Pinkertons off as best as we could, and we did. And then Micah came out of nowhere and attacked Arthur.” Uncle hissed out a curse at the name, and Abigail tutted quietly at him, due to Jack being there, but said no more, probably having wanted to do the same. “I went to help when Dutch stopped me.” That name quietened them all. “I tried to get away but then my brother came. He had been watching us for a day or so, keeping his distance, and then when all that hell broke loose he’d followed me and Arthur and intervened when Dutch held me. He confronted him, as he’d wanted to do for years...” She paused, and licked her lips. “I suppose you all know our history with him? And about me and him?” They all nodded and she continued after a moment. “Well, Thom had a lot of hate in his heart towards him and he told Dutch who I really was but Dutch... he knew.” She met Sadie’s gaze as she said it, the older woman staring at her, her lips parted. “Molly had done some investigating for him, after he had some suspicions about me, and she found it all out. He told Micah, too, and managed to get him to keep quiet. Anyway, Dutch then antagonized Thom, talking about the night my father died, and I tried to get him to stop by antagonizing him but then he shoved me away and I fell down the cliff. I hurt a couple of ribs pretty bad as I landed, and I saw Micah and Arthur and they...” She swallowed hard. “They were going at each other, hitting harder than I’d ever seen any body hit. I then heard a gunshot and thought Dutch had killed Thom. Dutch came down, told Micah and Arthur it was over, and Micah tried to convince Dutch to come with him, but then... Dutch just left. He just turned around and walked away.” She heard Charles release a quiet sound of disbelief. “He just left Arthur lying on the ground, even after he’d told him that Micah was the rat. Sadie, John and Abigail told you about that?” She continued again when Charles and Uncle quickly nodded. “Well, then I tried to get to Arthur but Micah was mad and he pointed a gun at me. I said we’d leave him alone but he didn’t believe me. Then Thom came down, unharmed, and he and Micah fought, and then I shot him.” They were all silent and still now. “He fell of the cliff and died there.” Licking her lips, she cleared her throat. “I then went to Arthur and, uhm...” She cleared her throat again, tears starting to prick at her eyes. “He was in a really bad way. He’d been shot, he’d lost a lot of blood and Micah had beaten him to a pulp. I held him and... told him he couldn’t leave me.” She smiled faintly, though it was gone as soon as it had come. “Then he... Then he stopped responding. Closed his eyes and didn’t say a word. I thought he was dead. Thom tried to get me up, tried to tell me we had to get away, that he was very sorry but we had to go, and then... I lay my head on his chest as I held him and then I heard him breathing. Very faintly but he was breathing. And then it was like I just came out of my body. I looked at Thom and I asked if he’d ridden there, and he said yes, so I told him to get his horse and that we were gonna save Arthur if it was the last thing I ever did.”

John, quiet, glanced at Arthur who was looking at Ada, his mouth in a thin line. 

Taking a breath, she tucked a curl behind her ear. “Thom and I carried him down that mountain to Thom’s horse. Mercifully, because of all the commotion and death, there were some Pinkerton horses grazing nearby and I told Thom to get on one while I got on his with Arthur. It nearly killed me to do it but we rode slowly through the trees, not wanting to draw any attention to ourselves, and as we did we came across my horse, Mags, and she started following us. We didn’t come across anyone, though, thank God. Pinkerton’s must’ve been too busy looking at Micah’s body or trying to find Dutch.” She exhaled a breath. “We rode like hell north. There’s a woman who lives north of Annesburg that we were acquainted with so I said to Thom I’d go there and that he should ride ahead to Annesburg to get the doctor and take him to Charlotte’s. He did, God bless him, and God bless her, when we arrived on her doorstep, me a wreck, Arthur half dead, both of us bloodied and bruised, she took us in without a word of complaint. She helped me get Arthur down from the horse and into a bed, and a little while later Thom arrived with the doctor. Gave him all the money I had left to keep him quiet and to thank him. He did what he could, for all three of us, he was there for hours, and then left and...” Ada exhaled a jagged breath, pausing as her jaw moved. “... I thought he was going to die.” She swiftly wiped a tear away just as it fell. “Three days he didn’t open his eyes or speak or move, and I didn’t sleep once. Thought I was gonna go crazy. Think I did a little. Charlotte and Thom got me through it, though, and... when he woke up...” She lifted her gaze and looked at Arthur, and they both smiled, it full of relief and love. 

His hand found hers, settling over it, and she inhaled a steadying breath. 

“We didn’t know what to do after that. Arthur needed to recover, Thom and I did, too. We couldn’t exactly, and didn’t want to, send Charlotte out to ask questions, even though she offered to. It was all too risky. She said there were patrols everywhere, Pinkertons all over Annesburg. They even came to the house once to ask if she’d seen anything, though we managed to hide. They never came again, think they were too preoccupied with finding Dutch. When Charlotte told us word got out that Micah wad dead and our names had joined the rumours, considering both of us went up there and neither came down... we decided it was best to just let them grow into fact, obviously, and the Pinkertons didn’t dissuade it. It was a good and bad night for them, guess they wanted all the victories they could take.”

“So what did you do?” Charles asked gently.

She shrugged a shoulder. “After that... we knew we couldn’t stay with Charlotte forever. She was risking her life for us, so when Arthur got his strength back we said our goodbyes and went west, the three of us. We thought about going north, to one of the big cities, losing ourselves there where no one would know us but...” A corner of her mouth lifted. “Big cities aren’t for us. We roamed for a while, settled here and there. We parted ways with Thom a month of so later.” She hesitated slightly, giving a small smile. “He had his own things to come to terms with and settle.” The smile then softened. “We got a letter from Charlotte soon after in response to one of mine saying he was with her. And we worked, like normal people. On small farms, in small towns, places where we could say we were just travelling through and needed more money. We even settled near Rhodes for a while. The place has changed so much now it’s not under the Grey’s or the Braithwaite’s control. Nobody knew who we were. And then we got married.” She laughed as they cheered and clapped, her other hand settling over Arthur’s. “Thank you, thank you... And after that, it took a while, a few years, actually, but we managed to save up enough money to buy a place.” She was smiling proudly now, a light smile on Arthur’s lips as he gazed at her. “It’s called Newfields Rest, by Emerald Ranch. We’re the first people to ever live in it, it’s new, and we love it.”

Sadie raised her eyebrows as she smiled. “So you’re farmers now?”

Arthur chuckled, and he spoke this time. “Not quite. I rear and train horses, Ada does sewin’ work for people in the nearby towns and houses. We got a small crop, too. The folks at Emerald were real kind to us when we arrived, helped us out a lot.”

“That’s great,” Charles said with a warm smile, “That’s really great.”

“And what about Amelia?” Abigail asked, like she’d been desperate to, her smile wide.

Ada and Arthur both smiled at the same time.

“She’s the best little kid,” Arthur laughed, shaking his head. “So funny and smart. Here...” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a folded up, worn photograph. Opening it, he held it up for all of them to see.

It displayed a two year old Millie, big smile, big eyes, gazing away from the camera, about to laugh at something Arthur had had to do so she’d sit still for it to be taken.

They all cooed and smiled, Abigail placing her hand on her chest.

“Oh, she’s beautiful!”

“Yeah.” Arthur’s smile lingered as he folded it away. “She’s a little older now. She’s gonna be five next month.”

“Wow. Oh, I’m just so happy for you both!”

Ada laughed softly as Abigail reached over and squeezed her arm briefly. “Thank you. She really is wonderful. And we...” She looked to Arthur as she made her smile remain. “We thought we were gonna be parents a couple of times before her but...” His hand found hers again as she shrugged a shoulder and her features softened. “Well, we’ve got our Millie now. In all her loud glory. This is the first time we’ve left her, actually.”

“Really?” Sadie asked, leaning back in her chair.

“Yeah,” Arthur with a faintly rueful smile. “We’ve only been to Thom and Charlotte’s place, they’re married now, since we settled at Newfields, and she came with us. It’s such a long journey for her, though, that they just come to us.” 

“Must be hard.”

“Yeah, but it is good to see you all.” He smiled at them all in turn, shaking his head, still in quiet disbelief. “Y’know we... We wanted to look for you all, find you all, but we didn’t wanna risk people findin’ out who we was.”

“Think we’ve all been livin’ a little in fear, still,” John murmured, rubbing his palms together slightly.

Arthur nodded as they all fell quiet. John chuckled suddenly and they all looked to him.

“I went back once, y’know, a little while after, to Beaver’s Hollow, see if the chest was still there.”

Arthur laughed as Ada smiled and raised her eyebrows, “We did, too.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“Me, too.”

She exhaled a breath. “Dutch must’ve taken it when he left.”

The name brought a short silence to the room.

“Either of you heard anything about him?” Charles asked, breaking it.

Arthur shook his head. “No. Nothin’. Any of you?”

John answered for them. “Nah. He’s most likely dead. He’s a man who can’t be quiet for too long.”

They all gave a quiet gesture of agreement, nodding, smiling faintly or raising their eyebrows.

“Well,” Abigail announced, rising and reaching for the now empty plate. “How about I get some dinner goin’?”

“Actually, Abigail,” Sadie cut in gently, raising her hand as the woman paused. “There’s somethin’ I wanted to talk to you all about.”

As Abigail sat back down, her hands folding in her lap, Sadie shifted forward in her seat, leaning her arms on the table. Glancing at them all, she grazed her teeth over her lower lip and her gaze finally settled on Ada.

“There’s been a sighting, of Micah.”

Silence descended, thick and heavy.

Ada, her hand now tight on Arthur’s, stared at her, smile gone. “That’s not possible.”

“Ada—”

“Thom and I pushed him off a ledge. I _shot_ him. We watched it, we saw him die.”

“Did you?”

Sadie’s question was gentle, but it was like a knife through Ada’s heart. Her jaw moving, she pressed a finger down on the table.

“The only way I have been able to live my life with any kind of peace is by knowing he is dead. And now you’re telling me...”

_I failed._

When she didn’t, couldn’t, finish, Arthur shook his head. “No way he could have survived, Sadie.” His tone was quiet, yet a hardness curled around its edge.

Their friend looked faintly devastated at having to tell them, but there was an edge to her voice, too. “I wouldn’t be tellin’ you this if I weren’t absolutely certain. Someone I trust saw him with his own eyes. He’s been killin’ and robbin’ folk up north.” She paused for a moment. “He killed a family, and a little girl they had.”

"Jesus...” John hissed as Charles released a breath.

Ada held Sadie’s gaze, expressionless, unmoving. It was Sadie who looked away after a few moments, sitting back in her chair as she shook her head with a light smile.

“Anyway, well, we don’t have to talk about it anymore now. Let’s just enjoy the rest of the evenin’, huh?”

There was a pause, no one knowing what to say until Sadie turned to Uncle.

“Say, Uncle, John said somethin’ about you gettin’ took by them Skinner Brothers.”

“Oh, don’t bring that up...”

As they laughed, the tension in the room releasing, Ada met Arthur’s gaze, and his expression mirrored hers.

Resignation on his features, and fire burning in his eyes.


	26. The Fire In Our Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

“Sadie.”

The laughter faded at Ada’s quiet, firm tone.

Her friend lifted her gaze to her. Ada held it, her mouth in a thin line.

“Where is he.”

Sadie grazed her teeth over her lower lip, her forearm resting on the table. “Up in the Grizzlies. On Mount Hagen. He’s got a hide-out there and his own little gang.”

Ada nodded once and was about to speak again when there came the sound of a chair scraping backwards, and Abigail stood.

“Well,” she began, a somewhat forced smile on her lips as she lifted the plate from the table again. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Abigail—” John tried, but she was already turning away.

“We ain’t gonna talk about it anymore!”

They fell silent once more as she pushed through the door into the kitchen, the loud sound of the plate clattering down on a counter coming moments later.

“She don’t, uh...” Their eyes lifted to John as he cleared his throat, his voice lowered. “... She don’t like talkin’ ‘bout that kind of business these days.”

And Ada didn’t blame her. What a life they had all carved out for themselves. What a safe, happy existence. And here it was, threatened once more.

_Because of me._

She remembered every moment of that night, how she’d watched Thom and Micah fight, her breath caught in her throat because, while Thom was clearly stronger, Micah was a cheat, and how Arthur had directed her towards the gun, how she’d felt absolute righteousness and anger flow through her as she’d raised it to Micah, called out to him, and then shot him. How she’d watched his eyes bulge as his body had fallen back, in complete shock. How relief had flooded through her at the knowledge, at the absolute certainty, that he was dead.

But she’d been wrong.

She could feel Arthur’s eyes on her, knowing he knew exactly what she was thinking but also knew she wouldn’t want to discuss it here. Instead, in a small, quiet, tender gesture, his hand settled on her knee, his touch light but comforting. It grounded her, tore her mind from the mountain of the past and the one potentially in her future and brought her back to the room. Looking to him, she smiled gently and he returned it. He’d so often pulled her out of moments like this over the years and she him, and pure love flowed through her now. Don’t think about it now, they told one another with a look, be here, be with your friends. And so she did what she’d done so many times before, and she pulled herself back and shoved it away.

Her hand settled over his as Abigail returned, smiling and wiping her hands on her apron, the gracious host returning.

“Now, who’s gonna help me finish the dinner?”

“Who’s gonna make it edible more like.”

“John Marston!”

Sadie and Ada offered to help her with a smile as the men poured themselves more whisky. As she rose from her seat, Ada noticed Jack shift away a little in his chair, opening a book in his hands. Well, some things didn’t change, though he was definitely more... guarded now.

It wasn’t just him, either. She noticed a prickliness about Abigail as she spoke with Sadie, a distance that hadn’t been there before. She could tell Sadie had noticed it, too, but it didn’t seem to bother her, whatever had caused it. She’d have to remember to ask her about it. They worked quickly, though, all not having realised how hungry they were, and they talked about Millie and how the land and times had changed while Arthur, Charles, John and Uncle spoke about their lives, Arthur elaborating on the kind of land they lived on, that they were saving up to build a stable so he could take on more horses, and Charles told them more about his potential move to Canada, what work he hoped to find.

As the sky darkened and candles were lit and the fire stoked, Ada felt herself relax. She didn’t realise how much she’d missed being part of a community, of having people around her. She’d thought for so many years of herself as a solitary creature, only allowing a select few in and telling herself she was content with that. And she was, she absolutely was content with her little family that included her brother and his wife, but being here, in this warm room with smiling faces and people offering to help and backs being patted and hands held, she recognised how much she liked this. It felt safe and secure, and she so wished they could have all been together during the last few years. What a difference it might have made. Yet she was also proud of how well she and Arthur had done on their own, of how not once had they regretted anything they’d done, and how their love had only grown.

Returning to her place beside Arthur as dinner was ready to be served, plates piled high with vegetables and meat covering the table, her hand slid across his back as she kissed his cheek, and he smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. She knew he’d missed this, too, probably, no, definitely more than she had, and her heart swelled for him.

Conversation never ceased or dried up as they ate, someone always having something to say be it about the weather or the completed train tracks that wove across the land, that a station and tracks were being built at Blackwater so it would one day be easier for them to visit. John told of how, as their eyes glistened, he’d run into Mary-Beth a few months before, that she was happy and fine and a writer now. Charles said he’d seen Tilly a year or so ago in Saint Denis, that she was also happy and had a husband and a baby, and she probably still lived there.

Her heart wanted to burst at the thought of other reunions, at the amount of people they could love and rely on growing.

They all talked long into the night, about everything and nothing. At some point Jack went to bed, his mother catching him as he tried to slip away and telling him to say goodnight. He did, with a sigh, and was answered with a chorus of tipsy or drunken farewells and kisses blown. He shook his head as he walked away, but Ada saw his faint smile. Perhaps he also needed a community around him, too.

The whisky bottles became empty but at Uncle’s insistence of ‘ _just one more_ ’, John rose with a sigh.

“All righ’, _just_ the one or you can start payin’ for ‘em. Arthur, come with me a second?”

Arthur nodded as he pushed his chair back. “Sure.”

He followed John into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him, and adjusted the cuffs of his rolled up sleeves. 

“You need my help ‘cause we’re gettin’ a barrel?”

John snorted, turning into a tiny, walled-off space in the kitchen that had a ladder nailed to one of the walls. “God, no. Though Uncle would probably die of happiness if we did.”

Following John up the ladder, they moved into a small attic space that housed crates and chests, and a bedroll with blankets sprawled across it. John met Arthur’s gaze with a shake of his head and a smile.

“Uncle likes to sleep up here sometimes. Says bein’ that close to alcohol soothes him.”

“Some things never change.”

Arthur was about to continue and ask if John had just got him up out of his God damn seat to show him Uncle’s bed when the younger man pulled a key from his pocket and opened one of the chests towards the back of the room. He pulled out a blanket, that lay across the top of whatever was inside, and then he removed a hat and a book—

_Christ..._

Arthur thought his heart stopped for a moment as he looked at the items. John cleared his throat and held them out to him.

“Here. I kept ‘em ‘cause I... Well, y’know.”

Clearing his own throat, Arthur nodded as he took his hat and his journal from him.

“Thank you, John,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over the materials of them. They looked just as they had when he’d given them over, expecting to never see John again or even live beyond that night.

“Yeah, I tried to carry the book on, added some of my own drawin’s and observations but I’m shit compared to you.”

Arthur chuckled as he glanced up at him. “Well, I look forward to seein’ ‘em.”

“Nah, just rip ‘em out, they ain’t any good.”

Closing and locking the chest, John opened a crate near it and rooted through for a whisky bottle as Arthur flicked through the journal. It was _exactly_ as he’d left it, no more and no less scratches and scuffs on it. It warmed his heart to think that John had taken such great care of it over the last few years, and while his hat was as battered as it had ever been, it seemed like there had been an attempt at washing and polishing the leather.

“Arthur...”

He was pulled from his examinations by John’s hesitant start, his gaze flicking up to him. The younger man held the whisky bottle between his hands and shrugged slightly.

“‘bout Micah, I... I can’t get it out of my mind.”

Closing the journal, Arthur exhaled a breath. “I don’t think any of us can.”

“What d’you think about it?”

Now Arthur shrugged, finding part of him didn’t really want to discuss it right now. Exhaling another breath, he held John’s gaze. “I told you, on that day, to never look back.”

John was nodding before he’d finished. “I know. And I’ve tried, but... there’s much more at stake now, for all of us, Arthur. Micah might not know ‘bout us but then he might. Might be bidin’ his time before he pays us a visit. And I don’t want to lose this place or my family, not again.”

“I hear you.” Arthur’s own thoughts on the matter were too loud and angry and complicated for him to want to get into right now, especially on such a happy occasion. He loved Sadie but what had possessed her to bring the matter up now? Why not wait until the morning?

Maybe she just couldn’t keep it to herself any longer. Maybe, in their happiness and joy, she had felt safe and needed to release it from her mind. Or maybe not. Maybe in their happiness and joy she thought or hoped that they would get angry and jump up straight away and demand they head out there now to find him. Who knows what they would have done had Abigail not insisted they leave the matter be. Even Sadie hadn’t wanted to argue with her on that.

Still, no matter the reason for her saying it, it was out there and in their minds and he’d done his best to forget about it but...

His stomach twisted over and over.

Micah had killed a little girl.

Adjusting the journal in his hand, a corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Why don’t we talk about it in the mornin’? Uncle’ll be scratching at the walls if he doesn’t get that whisky soon.”

Thankfully, John smiled and nodded. Lowering a hand from the bottle, he raised his eyebrows slightly. “Yeah, guess now ain’t really the time. Sorry.”

Arthur was about to dismiss his apology, there was no need for it, when John chuckled.

“Oh, by the way, I guess I’ll just tell you now, in case we don’t get a chance later, but... I’m gonna ask Abigail to marry me.”

A wide smile broke out across his features as his eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Yeah. Got a ring and everythin’. Just need to find the moment.”

Shifting the hat to his other hand, Arthur lay a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it as his smile lingered. “That’s great, John. I’m very happy for you.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t asked her yet. Who knows what she’s gonna say.”

Arthur snorted. “Oh, she’ll say yes. For some strange reason she loves you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, if she does you ain’t invited. Get outta my attic.”

Chuckling, Arthur made his way down first, taking the hat and journal with him back into the dining area. The others were engrossed in their conversation about Uncle seemingly having said he was going to buy a boat and live on it, Ada laughing as she wiped at her eyes as Sadie challenged him on every point as they determined he knew nothing about them. His wife looked up at him as he entered, as she did every time he came into a room, and her wide smile lingered as she tried to catch her breath.

Her gaze fell to his journal and hat, and he watched as realisation crossed her features and they softened. Sitting beside her once more, he could see how full her heart was. 

The bottle emptied quickly, cheeks flushed, laughs louder and longer. 

“All right, folks,” John announced with a grin as he rose once more, stifling a yawn. “I’d say it’s time to turn in, before we get the neighbours two miles away complainin’ about the noise.”

Chairs scraped back as they all stood, yawned or stretched.

“Sadie, you’re in the workroom,” John called over the noise, “Charles, you know you’re welcome to wherever. Uncle, stay outta the alcohol crates. Ada and Arthur, this way.”

They all bade each other good night with a tired smile and a wave, grateful and joyful in the knowing that they would all see each other again in the morning, though they were all still not quite able to believe it. Ada and Arthur followed John through the door that led out to the wide porch and down the stairs to the dirt path. They could observe the little details of the place now, having been distracted by the sight of their friends.

Rocks lined the dirt path that led up to the house, and someone had made an attempt at planting flowers by the stairs. There was a hitching post next to the stairs, too, though no horses were tied to it. They were all grazing nearby at what grass they could find, only Titan, Noka and another horse, John’s, possibly, lifting their heads to watch them before resuming their eating, the others only glancing up. 

After retrieving their saddlebags and bedrolls from them and John reassuring the pair of them that their horses would find the hay and water, they followed him into the barn through a side-door. A couple of lanterns were lit, bathing the single, wide room in a warm glow. The building was attached to a paddock that, they could see through cut-out windows in the walls, had a couple of horses, a cow, and some sheep in. They were quiet, all grazing away.

Moving to a ladder, John climbed it and helped Ada up when, as she went next, she reached the top before helping Arthur up after her. They had to stoop a little, the slanted roof of the barn and the beams of it low, but as the boards widened out they could stand to full height, and John gestured around.

“Well, it ain’t much but it’s warm and you got your own space. Won’t hear Uncle snorin’.”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” Ada smiled warmly, patting his arm as she passed him to place her bags and bedroll against a bale of hay.

“Yeah, just let me know if you need anythin’.”

“Nah, I think we’re okay, thanks, John.” Arthur placed his own bags and bedroll down, and John nodded, his hands going to his hips.

“All righ’, well, goodnight, you two.”

“Goodnight, John.”

“Night.”

Arthur watched him head down as Ada lay their bedrolls out on a spreading of hay. As he reached the bottom of the ladder, Arthur let his gaze drift across the barn. John and Charles had built it with their own hands and it was magnificent. It had stalls for the horses, water troughs, compartments for hay, and farm tools either hung up or balanced against a wall. Perhaps he’d build something like this on their own land, when they had the money.

Sitting on the bale of hay, he pulled his boots off, just listening to the quiet sounds of the night. Crickets chirped every few moments, and he could hear the farm animals eating and shifting. It was a warm, but not uncomfortably so, night, stars littering the dark sky.

He was so pleased his friend and his family had somewhere peaceful to live. And so did he.

His gaze turning to his wife, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he watched her comb her fingers through her curls, leaning against a large, cut-out window as she gazed out. His smile faded after a moment as he recognised the look on her features.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’, darlin’.”

He knew, but he wanted her to get it out of her head.

She was silent for a moment, her fingers continuing to comb through the same lock of hair.

“That little girl could have been Millie.” Her voice was so quiet, but he still caught the slight cracking of it on their daughter’s name.

“I know,” he murmured, but she was continuing.

“It _could_ be Millie. If he’s killed a child before he could do it again, especially to the child of two people that he hates, and he will hate us, that I have absolutely no doubt about, and I can’t live knowing he’s out there, knowing that at any moment he could find us and without any warning destroy our home and kill our family and I can’t—”

He’d risen and his gentle hands on her arms stopped her, a long, faintly shaking breath escaping her. He drew her into his arms, his hands slowly and gently rubbing her back.

“I know, I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, his chin resting on top of her head.

Her arms went around his waist instantly, her hands gripping onto the back of his shirt. 

“I can’t stand it either,” he continued, his voice low and gentle as she took in steadying breaths. “Knowin’ that rat’s out there, with all that he’s done... It’s makin’ my fuckin’ blood boil.”

Her breaths were calmer and her voice, though still quiet, was fiercer when she spoke. “I can’t live peacefully with him alive.”

“I know, I know...” He stroked her back as he held her, thinking the exact same thing.

They fell into silence, comforted by the hold on one another. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he then pressed another one there, then another on her forehead, allowing his lips to linger.

“What’re you lookin’ at...” he murmured, glancing down at her and following her eyeline.

“That bandstand,” she answered just as quietly, “Just... Made me think of Shady Belle.”

“Ahh...” He gazed at it, too, his hand moving up to caress the back of her neck. “My insatiable wife is thinkin’ about the first time I kissed her and changed her life and ruined all other men for her.”

She laughed, the sound like a spark of fire, so sudden and warm, and it relieved him to hear it and see her smile as she tilted her head back to look at him, raising her eyebrows.

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that, Arthur Morgan.”

“Oh, I will, Adaline Morgan...”

He lowered his head and captured her lips in a tender kiss. Ada practically melted against him, as she always did when he kissed her, but hearing her full-name always did it, too. It was the only surname she’d had that she felt was truly hers, truly right.

The kiss continued, and she smiled again as his hand slid down to her lower back, holding her against him. 

“Arthur...”

“What, no one’s here, for once... You don’t gotta be quiet now...”

And wasn’t that just every parent’s dream?

Her mouth opened to him, and he held her close and tight, waiting until her fingers were unbuttoning his shirt before he finally swept her up into his arms and lay her on the bedrolls and blankets she’d so carefully positioned.

Afterwards, they lay in each others arms, her head on his chest, his fingers idly playing with her hair.

She was grateful for the distraction he’d provided for them both, the, albeit brief, moment of reprieve, but...

He knew she was thinking about it again. Could practically hear the cogs in her mind working. And he’d been thinking about it, too.

And he knew what decision she’d made; the same one he had.

“Ada.”

“Hm.”

She didn’t move her head, or sound that surprised that he’d spoken.

He licked his lips, gazing at the dwindling lantern by the ladder.

“If we’re gonna do this... there can’t be any hesitation or doubt. We can’t afford that.”

“I know.”

After a few moments, she lifted her head to look at him, and he knew he was right.

Their fate had been sealed the moment Sadie had said the words.

* * *

They all ate together the next morning, sat again at the table, passing around bread, fruit and cheese. Uncle, as he usually did, nursed a hangover, and sipped coffee quietly as they discussed what a fine morning it was and how they had all slept.

Jack appeared to take some bread and an apple, and then wandered outside.

“To sit with the dog,” Abigail explained to her.

No one spoke of the cloud hanging over the room until they were all finished, and it was Sadie again who, in a pause in conversation, sat back in her chair, just as she had the night before. When she did, it was like the room itself held its breath.

“I’m goin’ after Micah today. This mornin’.”

Ada felt Abigail, who was to her left, stiffen in her chair, her fingers curled into fists on the table before her.

Sadie looked between them all as she said, “So, who’s gonna be joinin’ me?”

“I will,” Charles said, without a moments hesitation, and Sadie gave him a quiet, grateful nod.

“Me,” John said, barely a moment later, and Abigail hissed out a breath, her eyes darting to him.

“John—”

“We will.”

Sadie met Ada’s gaze as she spoke, the corners of her mouth lifting into a small smile.

“ _Ada_ —” Abigail nearly _scolded_ , her attention and fury turning to her, but Ada met her gaze now, shaking her head slightly.

“We have a little girl, Abigail. If anything happened to her—”

“And what if somethin’ happens to _you?_ To you _both?_ ”

It was Arthur who answered her this time. “Whether we want it or not, Abigail, we will face Micah again. He’ll find out where we are, at some point, where we all are, and he’ll come for us.”

“And he might _not_.” Abigail looked between them all now, mouth in a thin, hard line. “He might not even care anymore, might not even bother.”

“’Might’,” Ada said gently.

Abigail’s gaze darted to her, and Ada felt something fracture between them.

The scrape of her chair being shoved back was grating, forcing them to resist the urge to wince, apart from John who did. The kitchen door slammed shut behind her, and silence reigned for a few moments until Sadie cleared her throat.

“You got a half hour to get yourselves sorted. Then we ride.”

* * *

He found her sitting on the rumpled blankets on the bedrolls, legs crossed, writing on a piece of paper stretched across her thigh.

She’d quietly excused herself barely a second after Sadie spoke, placing her hand on his shoulder as she passed. Charles left after her, telling Sadie he’d gather weapons and ammunition. Then John went, heading into the kitchen after Abigail. Uncle sloped off, too, murmuring about needing fresh air.

He’d stayed with Sadie, talking over the route with her and what they might expect with having to be up on the mountain.

It must have been nearly ten minutes they talked, pretending not to hear the raised voices of John and Abigail. Finally, though, Sadie excused herself to gather her things. He sat for another minute.

Pushing the front door open and stepping out onto the porch, he was hit by warmth. It was barely past 8 and the day was already heating up. He could hear the scratching of pencil on paper as he climbed the ladder in the barn, and when he reached the top and hauled himself up, Ada didn’t look up.

Dusting his hands off on his trousers, he moved closer, straightening when the space allowed. Two pieces of paper were in front of her, filled with writing, and she was halfway down the paper on her thigh.

“What’re you writin’?”

Her hand paused and she finally looked up at him. Her expression nearly broke his heart.

“I’ve written letters to Thom and Charlotte. Writing one to Millie now.”

He ran his hand down his mouth as he took a breath, watching her tuck a curl behind her ear.

“Can I read it?”

She nodded, lifting the page and holding it out to him.

Closing the gap, he took it and cleared his throat. He decided to read it out loud, not wanting the words to be in his head, alone.

“’Our darlin’ Millie, if you are readin’ this, then Mama and Papa have gone to that special place we told you about when your cat, Smudge, died. Like with Smudge, you can’t come and visit us, but we can see you all the time and we’ll always be with you. We love you so much and we’re so proud of who you are, and of who we know you’re going to be. Be kind and help your aunt and uncle and’...” 

He trailed off as the letter did, clearing his throat again and looking down at her. Her eyes hadn’t moved from him.

“I don’t know how to finish it.”

Releasing a breath, he sat down beside her, handing her the paper back.

“You gonna send ‘em, then?”

“Yeah.” She returned the paper to her thigh, smoothing it down with her palm. “We should pass a place where we can post them. If we survive then we’ll be home by the time they arrive and I can take them and burn them. And if we don’t...” She paused, pressing her lips together slightly. “... At least we got to say goodbye, in some way.”

Arthur looked at her. Reaching out, he took her free hand and she met his gaze.

“Sweetheart, we can go home. We can say no.”

“I know.” She nodded, her hand turning over so she could lace her fingers with his. “I don’t want to. Do you?”

“No,” he answered truthfully.

Ada nodded again, inhaling a breath. Glancing down at the paper, she then looked back at him. “Would you like to add anything?”

His thumb brushed over her skin. “Tell her to stop playin’ in the mud.”

She smiled and exhaled a light laugh, even as tears shone in her eyes.

* * *

John played with his hat in his hands as he stood outside his son’s bedroom. The door was firmly closed, as it usually was, and, as always, he hesitated right before he knocked.

“Come in,” came the muffled reply.

Opening the door, he smiled at Jack, finding the boy sat on his bed, a book in his hands.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Pa.”

Jack didn’t put the book down and John didn’t step into the room, but they both looked at each other.

“So, uh, we’re gonna be headin’ out soon. Five minutes, in fact.”

“Okay.”

His son was a man of even fewer words than him.

“Anythin’ else you want to say to me?”

Jack softened slightly, his shoulders releasing whatever tension they always seemed to hold. “Sorry. I hope it all goes well, Pa.”

“Thank you.” He played with his hat again. “You know why I’m doin’ this, don’t you?”

The boy nodded. “Yeah. ‘cause he’s a bad man.”

“He’s a bad man _and_ I want to keep you and your Ma safe.” John took a step into the room, lifting a hand slightly. “I don’t know if you remember much about Micah but he could do some pretty bad things to us if he knows we’re here.”

“I remember some of him. I think he killed my dog, Cain.”

John had forgotten all about that dog. This new piece of information just made him hate Micah even more.

“Well, we’re gonna make sure he ain’t gonna do any more bad things.”

“Are you gonna kill him?”

John paused slightly before nodding. “Yeah, son, I think we are.”

Jack looked at him, then gave a nod. “Good.”

“What’s goin’ on in here?”

Both Marston boys looked to Arthur as he appeared in the doorway, leaning against it with an eyebrow arched and a warm smile.

“Just sayin’ goodbye.”

“All righ’, well, we gotta get goin’. Sadie’s about ready.”

“Okay.”

Arthur looked from John to Jack. Straightening, he nodded at the boy. “I’ll see you again, Jack. You be good.”

John felt an old, old, faint feeling of jealousy as Jack gave Arthur a warm smile, so unlike the tight ones he gave his own father.

“Be safe, Uncle Arthur.”

“Yeah.”

Hearing Arthur head out onto the porch as his gaze returned to his son, the jealousy vanished instantly as Jack’s smile lingered.

“Well, c’mere and give your old man a hug.”

Closing his book, Jack shuffled off the bed and moved towards him. He was growing every day yet his head still only reached John’s chest. As they embraced, John would have had to lower his head down to press a kiss to the top of his head. But he didn’t. The hug, as they always did, had an element of awkwardness to it, but John held on for longer than he usually would, and Jack did, too.

Finally pulling back, John held him by the shoulders for a moment before dropping one hand and placing his hat on his head with the other.

“Be good for your Ma, look after her.”

“I will, Pa.”

“Good boy.”

He patted his son’s shoulder, then he turned and headed out to join his friends without another word, his chest aching.

* * *

“Abigail?”

Ada stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her tone gentle. Abigail stood before the sink, her back to her, washing the dishes from breakfast. Her shoulders were stiff, and she didn’t pause at the sound of her name.

“Ada.”

It was so curt and cold, her tone, so unlike the warm, generous friend she knew her to be. It broke her heart, but wasn’t enough to stop her.

“I made you these. John said you needed some for the windows here. I made extra, too. Our gift.”

She placed the lace curtains, carefully wrapped in brown paper, down on the nearest counter before clasping her hands together. Abigail didn’t look over, didn’t even glance back.

“Thank you.”

Ada didn’t want to leave it like this. Not when they might...

“Abigail, I—”

“Y’know,” Abigail said suddenly, plates scraping against each other as her hands dropped before the sound was muffled by the water, and she turned, fixing her with her hard gaze. “I have a child, too. And a home, a family. Things that are also threatened by Micah Bell’s existence. But I ain’t goin’ after him. Because I ain’t gonna risk losin’ all those things on the slim chance that you’re gonna succeed. He ain’t a fool, and Sadie said he’s got a gang. He will kill without hesitation, and he’ll wanna kill you all.” Her lips pressed together, stopping herself from spitting out anymore bitter words. Shaking her head, she shrugged. “But I can’t stop you. Can’t stop any of you, not even the father of my child. So just go, get out of my house.”

She turned back to the sink, picking up where she left off, the sound of sloshing water filling the silence.

Swallowing, Ada nudged her wedding band around her finger.

“Goodbye, Abigail.”

Turning, she strode out of the kitchen and past the table they’d so joyfully sat at only several hours before. As she moved out onto the porch she found Uncle and Jack saying their goodbyes.

Jack hugged her which surprised and pleased her, and Uncle gave her another great, big kiss on the cheek. If she noticed his eyes shining, she didn’t say a word, just squeezed his arm gently.

“Here.”

She smiled at John as he approached her and Arthur by their horses, carrying two thick coats in his arms. “I’m gonna assume you didn’t pack for cold weather, so take these, they should fit.”

He gave Arthur a winter coat of his, and her a winter coat of Abigail’s. Scarves were wrapped within them and they thanked him before securing them to their saddles.

And then Sadie was calling to them from the path, sat on her horse.

“C’mon, it’s time.”

Mounting up, they looked to Jack and Uncle who bade their last farewells before they gently kicked their horses into a walk and followed after Sadie. The day was truly warming up now, and as Ada placed her hat on her head, she met Arthur’s gaze, sharing a light, reassuring smile with him.

If only—

The back door of the house burst open behind them as they headed for the archway, and their heads whipped round to find Abigail stood a few feet away from the house, fists clenched by her sides.

"Don’t you dare come back, John Marston! If you live I don’t ever want to see you again!”

They could hear the tears in her fierce words, and Ada made herself look away, her heart aching, aching, aching.


	27. Blood and Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

They crossed the Upper Montana River the same way Ada and Arthur had, Abigail’s words ringing in their ears.

John’s the loudest.

He’d just got her back, and now she was going to leave him again.

But he couldn’t not go. He knew in his heart he couldn’t have ever said no to Sadie and stopping Micah Bell. It bolstered him that Ada and Arthur were going, too. Yet it was only a little; they had just as much to lose as him.

And just as much as he couldn’t say no, they hadn’t been able to either.

One of them should have been yelling at the other, telling them this was a stupid, horrible plan, what the hell were they doing and that they should just turn back, but that not unfounded responsibility had fallen to Abigail.

‘ _Once again_ ,’ she had said. 

But he was just so angry, so fucking _angry_ at Micah for forcing them into this position. To his core Micah was a bad man and they all knew he wouldn’t just leave them be if he got wind of their new, happy lives.

This _had_ to be done.

He glanced over at Arthur and Ada as they passed the burned down Native Residential School, watched as they shared a small, reassuring smile with one another, like they were the only people on the road.

“We’ll be okay,” Arthur murmured, so quietly.

“I know,” Ada answered, the breath she inhaled steeling.

Sadie led their small group, Charles beside her and John, Arthur and Ada behind. They moved quietly, no one really knowing or having anything to say. Their mission hung heavy over their heads, yet it reassured Arthur somewhat that this didn’t feel like the kind of revenge mission he’d feared it would be; blood-thirsty, cold, calculated.

‘ _Revenge is a fool’s game_ ’, he’d said so, so many times to Dutch during their time together, yet he’d not had much to fight for then.

And here, now, they were a group of tired parents and people, looking to secure a future they had fought so hard for. Revenge wasn’t the word that came to mind when he looked at all of them. Yet who knew how each of them would react when they came face to face with Micah Bell?

He caught the slight squaring of Ada’s shoulders as they turned onto another path and at first he thought it was just the gradual dropping in temperature, but as he heard the noise of a small town, realisation dawned on him.

As they’d packed their bags, he’d told her where Sadie’s route was going to take them through, and she’d just nodded and raised her eyebrows slightly, a faint smile on her lips.

“Well, seems I can’t avoid it any longer.”

Strawberry looked much as it had when he’d last been there, when he’d first met her. Part of him felt he owed so much to this place and to fate for bringing him here, yet it sat in the back of his mind as he glanced at her, keeping his head down, wanting to catch her eye and reassure her again, but her own gaze was darting from cabin to stable as they entered from the south path, the mud beneath them damp.

Ada hadn’t been back to her once home since the night she’d met Arthur. She’d wondered about it, over the years, what it would look like and if it had changed and... it had and it hadn’t. No new buildings had been built, there had never been any space to, but some had definitely been cleaned up, painted and sold to new inhabitants. People bustled about, no more and no less than there had been on the morning walks she used to take. She adjusted the brim of her hat, pulling it down slightly, though she would have been surprised if people had recognised her or even remembered her. They’d read in the papers over the years that Mayor Nicholas Timmins had been re-elected, some claiming through unsavoury means, and that he was still fighting to turn the town into a get-away destination for city folks.

By the looks of things, he hadn’t exactly succeeded. Maybe one or two people had come down from a city, but it wasn’t exactly bustling like he’d always told her he wanted it to be.

_I wonder how he is._

She didn’t know what she’d do if she ran into him again, though some bored columnists were currently claiming his health was declining, his failed venture finally starting to take a toll. Maybe he, too, wouldn’t recognise her.

Her gaze landed on the post office as they crossed the bridge over the thundering river, it must have rained recently, and she cleared her throat.

“Can we stop for a moment? I just need to post some letters.”

They all looked to her, and she half expected it to be with an expression of ‘ _Now? Really?_ ’ but they all, quietly, seemed to understand. Sadie nodded and they remained mounted by the hitching posts as she slid down from the saddle. The air was certainly colder here, she’d almost forgotten how cold Strawberry could get, and she took the opportunity to pull Abigail’s coat on. Abigail was slighter than she was but it just about fit, and she withdrew the three letters from her saddlebag.

Catching Arthur’s eye, they smiled faintly at one another again and she licked her lips as she moved to the stairs.

The post office hadn’t changed one bit. A man she didn’t recognise was behind the counter but everything was just as she remembered, and the familiarity somehow made this heart-breaking act a little less terrifying.

“Hello, ma’am, how may I help you?” the man smiled, leaning against the counter.

At some point in the last few years, she’d gone from ‘miss’ to ‘ma’am’,

“Good morning, I’d like to send these letters, please.” Her heart was beating a little faster as she lay them on the worn, wooden counter. Yet she just told herself what she’d told Arthur; if they lived, their daughter, her brother and his wife would never have to read these, and if they didn’t, she liked to think they would bring some comfort.

She told herself that over and over again as the man marked each envelope. She suddenly could hear her own breathing in her ears, the man’s voice far away as he talked about the weather, and her eyes were now fixed on the envelopes. They were an off-white, the same colour as the pages she’d written on, the only ones she could find in Jack’s room. She’d meant to tell him that she’d taken them, that she would pay for new ones, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to. That would have just led to why she’d taken them and she hadn’t wanted to speak it out loud to anyone but Arthur.

She wished she could have said the gravity of the situation had descended upon her as she’d written them, or now as she was sending them, but... the moment Sadie had said the words it had all come crashing down. She hadn’t cried, and she didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

It had been a long time since she had been numb, and she used to hate it, but now it brought with it a certain element of protection.

As she paid him, she cleared her throat, a certain lightness within her now.

One of the thoughts that had come to her as she’d watched Millie sleep the first night after her birth was that she’d kill for her, and here she was, fulfilling her promise.

“Anythin’ else I can help you with, ma’am?”

She smiled, shaking her head as she tucked her coin purse back into her pocket. “No, thank you.”

“All right, have a nice day, ma’am!”

Her smile lingering, she turned away from him, feeling quite relieved. Now, she could focus, and—

The door swung open, a small bell tinkling with it.

“Good morning, Hershel!” Nicholas Timmins boomed, a great beam on his features.

“Good morning, sir!” 

Mayor Timmins’s beam remained fixed in place as his gaze went to the woman stood in the centre of the post office, a warm greeting ready for her, when he paused.

Ada held his gaze as he looked at her, that great smile not moving. She felt nothing, no fear, no anticipation, no unease.

Her uncle was silent for only two seconds.

“Good morning, ma’am! Have a lovely day!” Inclining his head, he then strode past her to the counter.

As he struck up a conversation with Hershel, Ada moved to the door, the tinkling bell signalling her exit.

Stepping out onto the porch, she inhaled the cold, fresh air. She didn’t have time to dwell on what had just happened, though, as Sadie, Charles and John were nowhere to be seen. Arthur, having dismounted and now also wearing the coat John had given him, was leaning against the railing of the stairs, looking up the path towards the hotel. At the sound of the bell, he looked to her and raised his eyebrows, a corner of his mouth lifting.

“So...” he began as she moved down the stairs, his arms folded, “... Saw your uncle go in.”

"And you didn’t think to yell?”

“Nah, thought he might like a little surprise.”

She snorted faintly as she stepped down onto the mud, arching an eyebrow. “I don’t think it was. He looked right through me. Think he thought he recognised me from somewhere but couldn’t place where.”

“Suppose it’s for the best,” he answered, his arms dropping.

They both knew she wasn’t fazed, in fact she was rather relieved. The only mention of her disappearance from this town had been in the newspaper Arthur had shown her all those years ago at Shady Belle. There hadn’t been a peep since she’d seen him at the party. Glancing at the horses with empty saddles, she raised her eyebrows.

“Where are they?”

“Gone after one of Sadie’s leads, that’s why we’re here. One of Micah’s boys is wanted for murderin’ a woman and he’s been seen drinkin’ here. She says he’ll confirm if Micah’s really at Mount Hagen and what the hide-out looks like.”

Ada followed beside him as they moved up the path, a slight incline to it, frowning. “Wait, so, Micah might not even be there?”

“Nah, she said his camp’s definitely there, just wants to confirm he ain’t off on some kind of raid. It’s quite a spot he’s got, apparently, remote and harsh. Bounty hunters ain’t exactly fond of traipsing through snow and the cold to get to ‘im and, well, he’s literally got the high ground.”

“You’re filling me with such confidence.”

He snorted, hands on his belt. “We’ve been through worse.”

Well, she couldn’t argue with that. She was just about to say so when a commotion and raised voices drew their attention to the saloon up ahead. The doors had burst open and a man was racing across the mud towards a set of stairs that led up to a couple of wooden buildings, and John was chasing after him, yelling.

“C’mon, Cleet, you can’t get away!”

“ _Cleet?_ ” Ada gasped, recalling the, as Arthur had once described him, rat-faced man who had been with Micah in those fateful last days. 

“C’mon, I’ll go with John, you head ‘im off,” Arthur hissed before running after them.

She ran up the path, hearing the men shout, John’s coming loudest over them with, “Stop that man! He’s wanted for murder!”

They sounded like they were rounding the general store so she ran for the hotel, hoping to cut Cleet off there. He was fast, though, sprinting past her, her finger tips brushing against his coat as she reached out for him. She heard John and Arthur behind her as they followed him up towards the east path, and then, suddenly in her peripheral vision, Sadie was there, and Ada felt herself instantly slowing, pre-empting what was to come.

Sadie barrelled into the man, knocking him into the mud and drawing a loud grunt from him. Charles came down the path the wily man had been heading, while John, Ada and Arthur panted lightly, clearing their throats.

Lord, when was the last time they’d had to run after anyone faster than their children?

Sadie was standing over Cleet, and barely let him catch his breath before she was driving her fist into his muddied face.

“Hello, Cleet, remember us?”

He was too busy groaning to respond. She straightened as they approached, glancing up at them.

“Who wants to take a turn?”

That made him find his voice.

“Hey, hey, hey, we’re all buddies, ain’t we?” he laughed desperately, holding a hand up to shield himself.

Arthur snorted at the man while John stepped forward, his gloved fingers curling into fists. “Sure, Sadie. With pleasure...”

Cleet’s eyes were on his fists, but it was John’s boot that struck out, hitting him in the chin and sending him backwards. Before he could even lift his head, John was grabbing him by the front of his coat, hauling half his body up off the ground.

“Where’s Micah, huh, Cleet? He up in the Grizzlies?”

Charles and Sadie stood to the side as John punched him, making eye contact with anyone who stopped to stare until they quickly averted their gaze and hurried away. Arthur and Ada stood side by side, quiet, watching as John dropped him back down.

“Micah? I ain’t seen him— Wait, wait!”

John was already punching him again, hissing out through gritted teeth, “Where is he?!”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop...” Cleet pleaded, holding his hand out again as blood poured from his mouth. “I don’t know... I ain’t seen him, we fell out.”

“We know he’s there, Cleet, you just gotta tell us!”

“I don’t know!”

Before John could strike him again, Sadie tutted, side-eyeing him. “You know what, I’m bored of this. Let’s hang the bastard.”

Ada’s eyes darted to her as she paused. 

John nodded, reaching out for him. “Good idea.”

Gripping him by the back of the collar, he started to drag Cleet through the mud, following Sadie towards the gallows.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait! Hang on a minute! Damn you!” Cleet was now shouting, trying to grab at John’s arm.

Charles, Ada and Arthur went, too, silent, but not with unease.

The Strawberry gallows hadn’t changed either. A high platform with two sets of stairs leading up to it, it was rather awkwardly situated near the jail and one of the paths that led in and out of the town. Not that many people gathered for hangings, at least not when Ada had lived here, but it seemed as if it had been erected here just because there was space. Three wooden beams were lashed together, and a noose hung from it.

“I told you, I don’t know!”

“C’mon, John, up here,” Sadie called over Cleet’s yelling as she climbed the stairs, sounding bored.

Half lifting him, John threw him onto the stairs and withdrew his gun, aiming it at him. “Move!”

Cleet did as he was told, scrambling backwards up them as he continued to plead, “Now, hold on! Hang on! Just wait a minute!”

He was so focused on John and his gun that he started in surprise when, as he reached the top of the stairs, Sadie grabbed him, pulled him up and shoved him towards the centre of the platform. Ada, Arthur and Charles hadn’t followed them up, instead having opted to stand in front of the gallows, watching them.

“Here. I want you stood right here,” Sadie ordered him, her gun now drawn and aimed at him. Her other hand had him gripped tight as she positioned him before the noose, the gun now aimed at his head. “All right, now string the no good, murderin’ bastard up.”

As John grabbed the noose and yanked it down, securing it around Cleet’s neck as he spluttered his pleas, Charles murmured to them, “You okay with this?”

“I’m not _not_ okay with it,” Arthur mumbled with a faint shrug, and Ada found she was rather indifferent, too; Cleet was a murderer, a wanted man who was probably going to be hanged anyway.

A few townspeople had gathered to watch now, and John just moved to the lever that would open the floor beneath Cleet, his hand gripping it.

“Is Micah there, Cleet?”

Cleet had his hands raised, stumbling over his words. “N-Now hang on! Just w-wait—”

“ _Is he there?_ ”

“I already told you, I ain’t seen ‘im!”

“You lie!” Sadie barked.

“It ain’t my fault!” he yelled, “He tried to kill me!”

“ _Where’s Micah!_ ” John shouted, his hand moving the lever an inch.

Cleet’s eyes widened and he started, staring at John. “No, no, no, no! Wait, please!”

“Talk, or I’ll pull this lever!”

He moved it an inch more and Cleet cried out, stiff, “W-Wait, wait, wait! H-He is up in the mountains!” 

John released the lever and they paused, allowing him to take a breath. 

“He... H-He is up at Mount Hagen. He got a whole gang now... Bad men, doin’ bad things... I-I tried to stop him from m-murderin’ that little girl...”

Ada’s stomach turned, and she swallowed hard.

“... We f-fell out, honest... I’m...” He managed a weak smile. “... I’m one of the good guys.”

“Hang ‘im.”

They all looked to Arthur, his mouth set in a thin line, and Cleet became frantic.

“No, no, no, no, no! Wait, don’t! John, don’t!”

John didn’t even hesitate. Gripping the lever, he pulled it. The floor opened beneath Cleet and he dropped. They all heard his neck snap. 

Mumblings went though the small crowd that had gathered, and then they started to shuffle off. The Sheriff, a man Ada didn’t recognise, just turned from where he’d been standing in the doorway of the jail, watching, and headed back inside.

“Tried to stop ‘im, did he,” Arthur muttered, watching the body. “Could’ve shot the bastard.”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Sadie said, nonplussed, vaulting over the railing around the platform down onto the mud.

“We’re just leaving him there?” Charles said, even as he followed after her along with them.

“Let the birds eat ‘im.”

They mounted up and passed by the swinging corpse of Cleet as they made their way out of the town. Ada felt no nostalgia for the place, no affection or loss at leaving again. She didn’t think she would ever return.

“It’s a long ride,” Charles murmured as they urged their horses into canters. “Let’s finish this.”

They rode hard, all of them wanting this over and done. As Charles said, though, it was a long ride.

When the sky darkened and the air grew colder and colder, it was he who called that they should stop for the night. They’d taken a few minutes rest here and there throughout the day but they all knew they and the horses were exhausted, and they certainly didn’t want to encounter Micah and his men like this. 

They stopped at a grassy, lightly snow covered hill, a forest at their backs, and let their horses graze as they unfurled their bedrolls. Charles built and lit a fire and they ate what they’d packed as they sat huddled around it. It was bitterly cold, and would only get colder. They were near the mountains now, perhaps ten or twenty miles away from the path they would take up into them, and Ada gazed at their peaks as she ate quietly.

Micah was somewhere within them.

She’d thought about him as they travelled, what he might look like now and how he might have changed. He’d be meaner, angrier, that was for sure, but she didn’t feel afraid.

Her gaze shifted to their group, watching them all. John and Arthur were sat together talking quietly, about what she couldn’t hear, Charles was sat on a rock a little way a way, keeping guard, and Sadie was sat beside her, as silent as she was.

Licking her lips, Ada cleared her throat. “Sadie?”

“Hm?” The blonde woman looked to her, raising her eyebrows slightly.

She just came out and asked it. “Why doesn’t Abigail like you anymore?”

Sadie snorted, her eyes returning to the fire as her eyebrows rose a little higher. “And here I was thinkin’ she was doin’ such a great job at hidin’ it.” Shifting her stretched out legs, she shrugged her shoulders slightly. “John’s been joinin’ me on some bounty huntin’ duties to make some money. Abigail hasn’t liked that.”

_Oh._

“And so with this...”

Sadie shrugged again, a faint, wan smile on her lips. “She’s gonna hate me even more.”

Ada returned her smile, exhaling a breath. “Well, she hates me now, too. Hates us all, so...”

Her friend watched her, her head tilted slightly. “Yet you don’t blame her.”

She shook her head, the barely-there smile lingering. “No.”

“Hm. Neither do I.”

They returned to their silence, neither really wanting to talk. A short while later, John took over from Charles and Ada said a quiet goodnight to Sadie, who needed her rest as she would be taking over after John, before she joined Arthur.

Sat on his bedroll, he lifted an arm as she approached and she sat on her own bedroll beside him, leaning against him and his arm went around her.

“You okay, darlin’?” he murmured after a few moments, his cheek resting against the top of her head. 

“Yeah,” she answered just as quietly. “Just want this done.”

“Me, too.”

Rubbing her arm gently, he held her until she started to finally doze off, her breathing softening. Carefully laying her down with him, he continued to hold her, gazing up at the pitch-black sky littered with shining stars.

His heart had been aching since the moment they’d set off that morning. He loved his wife and daughter more than he could ever possibly say, and two days ago he would never have done anything that would have put their happiness in jeopardy... but the existence of Micah Bell did just that.

If he was the one to put the bullet in the man’s skull he wouldn’t feel joy but relief. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t feel joy; he didn’t want to be that kind of man, never had. He kept his eyes on the sky, listening to their friends quietly settle down for the night, the same thoughts probably on their minds, the same fears. 

He knew it would be useless to say they could still turn back now; they all knew they couldn’t.

* * *

They awoke just before dawn, having all just snatched a couple of hours sleep here and there.

John stamped the fire out after they’d eaten what little they could manage, no one particularly hungry. They mounted up without much talk or ceremony, and followed Sadie onto the path towards the mountains. It was a cold, misty day, the sky slowly turning from black to grey. They didn’t meet anybody as they travelled; who would be foolish enough to be out this early and when it was this freezing?

Ada knew they were near when Charles kicked his horse into a canter as they made their way up an hill, snowflakes starting to lightly fall.

“We all ready?” he called to them, overtaking Sadie. “This pass will take us up onto the high mountains. There’s an old watchtower up there, over the ridge. They might be using it for a camp.”

“Lead the way!” Sadie answered.

This was it.

Squaring her shoulders, Ada gripped the reins tightly as they climbed. Huge rocks lay to their left and right, and the tall trees had thinned out now, patchy grass turning to snow and rock. They went higher and higher, small stones sliding down the path behind them. Wind whistled around the rocks, mingling with the far cries of a few birds, but other than that there were no other sounds... or were they just masking them?

Her gaze shifted from the back of Charles’s head to the rocks above, half-expecting men to jump out from all over and attack. She hoped Micah was stupid enough to not station a look-out here.

But Micah Bell, while many things, was not stupid.

A gunshot sounded and a split-second later Charles cried out, his teeth sounding gritted. Ada’s heart twisted as Sadie and John leapt off their horses, the animals shifting, startled, unable to see Charles.

“There must be a sniper! Get to cover, quick!” Sadie yelled as Ada and Arthur slid from their own saddles, pulling their guns from them as they ducked down.

“Shit...” Arthur hissed as he scanned the rocks above now, Ada shooing their horses back down the path. 

“You alive, Charles?” John called as they ran up the hill.

Charles, off his horse somehow, either from the impact of the shot or voluntarily, was lying on the ground, gripping at his arm.

“Just about,” he hissed out through gritted teeth as Arthur and John quickly grabbed him under the arms and hauled him behind a boulder as Sadie and Ada took to their own cover.

“Where is this bastard?” Sadie muttered, crouched behind a rock a few feet away from her.

Ada adjusted the grip on her Repeater, peering out as carefully as she could. A bullet bounced off a rock somewhere close by and they all ducked down as another one came.

“Stay low!” Sadie yelled, even as she rose up slightly and darted to the next rock up. Ada did the same as the blonde woman continued, “We gotta get close to ‘im! Short runs so he don’t get us!”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Arthur and John moving up, too, all of them taking the short opportunity when the sniper wasn’t firing. His bullets came close but the rocks were large enough to give them plenty of cover.

It almost startled her when the man’s voice rang down the pass. 

“I got the high ground up here! I got a box of bullets, a canteen and some jerky, you can try by all means but you ain’t gettin’ up this pass! Just ask your friend back there!”

John was surging ahead, faster than any of them, and her heart was in her mouth every time he moved.

Even the sniper noticed his speed. “You’re persistent all right! Guess you ain’t here by no accident!”

Ada ceased moving from rock to rock and instead aimed at where the man seemed to be, firing to try and keep her friends safe. That silenced him but he fired back, and she was certainly happy to keep him occupied because John was getting closer and closer... 

“Take the shot!” Sadie suddenly yelled, and Ada looked just in time to see John rise and fire.

“You shot my friend, you son of a bitch!”

The man cried out, the bullet finding its mark.

“You got him!” Sadie cried, and Ada exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “Let’s get back to Charles!”

They slid slightly down the rocky path as they ran, Arthur ahead of them. Chares was still propped against the boulder when they got to him, breathing hard and gripping at where his chest met his right shoulder.

“You okay?” Arthur asked, crouching beside him and placing a hand on his good shoulder.

Sadie kept glancing up from him to the ridge as they looked at him, their hearts sinking.

“I will be...” he groaned, and that soothed them somewhat because he wasn’t one to lie. “... but go on, go now!”

They still paused, however, and he knew what they were thinking.

“I’ll be fine. Move fast, or they’ll come down that hill and kill us all.”

They knew he was right but...

“I don’t wanna leave him,” John murmured, glancing up at Arthur who was rubbing his fingers against his brow.

"He’s righ’, though,” Arthur sighed, shaking his head. “If we push on, we can hold ‘em back, get to ‘em before they get to us.”

Charles was nodding, his breaths deepening. “They know we’re comin’ now... I will be fine... I’ll follow you up, I just... I just can’t move fast.”

Even though she knew he wouldn’t, no matter what, Ada murmured to him as she removed her scarf and wrapped it around his neck, “Get on your horse and get down the pass if you can’t, okay?”

He nodded, though she knew it was just to appease her. “Now, go!”

Gripping their weapons, they reluctantly left him there as they started to stride up the hill, John hissing out curses.

“They _will_ know we’re comin’ now,” Arthur murmured, wetting his lips. “They won’t know our number, though, and hopefully we can still take ‘em somewhat by surprise.” 

“I should hope so,” Sadie muttered. “They still got the high ground, though, so we better move.”

They quickened their pace, running up the hill, though the thick snow on the ground didn’t make it easy nor did the steepness of the incline. Ada kept her eyes up, waiting, again, for an attack at any moment. She was the one to spot him first.

“Here they come!”

A man was running down the snowy ridge towards them, standing out starkly against the white of it in his dark clothes. She raised her Repeater and fired first, killing him.

“There’s another one!” Arthur called and Sadie shot the man who came behind him as they finally reached the top of the hill, the ground evening out.

A few trees and rocks littered the wide pathway before them but they couldn’t stop for long; they had to push on.

“Up on the cliff!” Sadie yelled, and John shot a man readying to shoot at them.

There were more men now, some up on the cliffs, some hiding behind the rocks on the path ahead of them, and the four of them aimed and fired as they moved up, ducking behind rocks only for a few seconds before darting ahead for another.

A man screamed as he tumbled over the cliff but they just ran on, not wanting to lose any kind of advantage by a second. They were running up another incline now, the snow even thicker.

“More of ‘em!” At Arthur’s call they aimed at the three men who were trying to run for cover, two others hiding amongst the trees. They died in seconds.

“There’s a camp here!” John said as they climbed a hill with gritted teeth, each breath taking cold air into their lungs.

“Can’t be the main one,” Sadie answered as their eyes travelled the four tents and the still burning fire. “It’s not big enough, Micah rides with twenty guys, maybe more. Keep climbin’ ‘till we find that tower Charles talked about!”

The hill was steepening. They hissed out breaths and grunted as they pushed on and reloaded, the snow nearly up to their knees, and Sadie muttered out a curse.

“Air’s gettin’ thin. Let’s fuckin’ do this.”

They reached the top, the land now mercifully flat, but they barely had a chance to catch their breath as two men, waiting, fired at them from the path ahead. Arthur and Ada killed them, the two of them stood side by side.

Running across the path, they came to another incline, this one shorter but steeper. Arthur placed a hand on Ada’s back, helping her up as Sadie, already at the top, yelled, “Micah Bell, we’re here for ya!”

“I didn’t sign up for this much leg-work,” Arthur muttered and a sudden laugh escaped Ada; it was a beautiful, beautiful moment of release.

Yet it was just a moment.

Bullets buried into the snow around them and they had to be firing again, two men several feet apart aiming at them, though it was just Ada, John and Arthur who fired back and killed them. Sadie was charging ahead, a newfound energy from somewhere in her.

“Sadie!” John called after her as they tried to catch up, yet another incline slowing them. “Be careful!”

“I can handle it! C’mon! Keep pushin’ up!”

She was metres ahead, reaching the top and heading around the corner of a huge rock jutting out of the snow. Ada’s legs were burning but she just kept her eyes on her friend. She was so far ahead of them, why wasn’t she just waiting for—

“C’mere!”

A man leapt from the rock and tackled Sadie, driving her into the snow. Ada’s breath caught sharply in her throat as she gasped, trying to run faster.

“ _Sadie!_ ”

“Get your hands off her!” John thundered as the man wrestled with her, raising his gun, but he barely had time to take aim when another man leapt off the rock, colliding with him.

They collapsed to the floor, John grunting as the man punched him and he instantly punched back. Arthur was ahead of Ada now, striking the man across the head with his boot, fury across his features. Ada ran past them but heard the gunshot that killed the man, her eyes still fixed on her friend.

Sadie and the man were on their feet now, twisting and turning as they continued to wrestle and Ada couldn’t find a safe shot, they were moving too much, if she could just—

She saw the glint of it in the man’s hand.

Ada cried out as he thrust the knife into Sadie’s side and she heard her friend gasp. A gun went off, a hole tearing through the man’s stomach as Sadie stumbled back. Her breathing ragged, Ada lunged forward, finally reaching her, and swiftly wrapped an arm around her, keeping her upright.

“You’re all right, you’re okay, you’re okay...” she murmured, hating with every fibre of her being the strange, strangled sounds Sadie was making.

A lump was forming in her throat as she heard John hiss, “God damn...” behind her, tears starting to prick at her eyes.

Sadie clenched her jaw as she gripped the knife and pulled it out, tossing it to the floor with a gasped breath.

“Hey, hey, you all righ’?” Arthur asked with a concerned frown, at her other side now and gripping her arm. “Charles got ‘im, it’s okay.”

Ada’s head whipped to the side, finding Charles trying to catch his breath as he knelt on the ground, his gun in his hand. Looking back to Sadie, she swallowed hard as the woman nodded.

“Just fine...”

“You don’t look too fine,” John said, and Sadie was vehemently shaking her head even as Ada felt her legs weaken slightly.

“ _C’mon_ , we gotta keep goin’...”

“You’re bleedin’ pretty bad, Sadie,” Arthur pointed out gently, and Sadie hissed out a breath.

“I’m _fine_ —”

“ _No_ , you’re not,” Ada cut her off, swallowing again as she looked at the blood staining Sadie’s coat. “Arthur, let’s sit her down...”

They helped her over to a boulder, making her sit down, and it had obviously pained Sadie as she released a long breath she must have been holding.

“Ain’t nothin’—”

“You’re _dyin’_ ,” John said, and the words cut through Ada like shards of glass.

“I ain’t dyin’, I _ain’t_ ,” Sadie hissed, and Ada so wanted to believe her.

“Give me your scarf, Arthur.”

He swiftly removed it and handed it to his wife without a word, watching as she crouched and pushed it against Sadie’s wound before grabbing the woman’s hand, making her press down on it. The blonde woman winced and Ada met her gaze.

“Keep doing this until we come back, okay?”

“I’m comin’ with you, I just need to—”

“No, you’re staying _here_ with Charles.”

It was a moment or two before Sadie nodded, her teeth gritted. “Go get ‘im, I’ll be fine, just need to rest.”

Ada gazed at her, her pale cheeks and weary eyes, and then she made a decision.

“There can’t be many more men, right?”

Sadie shook her head, taking a breath. “He’ll’ve sent ‘em all out while he hid. There can’t be many of ‘em left.”

Wetting her lips, Ada looked up at Arthur and John. “I’ll stay here with these two. I’ll try and get this bleeding to stop and deal with any of his men that might run.”

“You sure?” Arthur asked, holding her gaze.

She nodded, managing a light smile. “Yeah. Now go, go and finish this.”

He lay a hand on her shoulder and squeezed hard, her own hand going over his for the briefest of moments, and then it was gone. She watched her husband turn away and start running along the path with his greatest friend until they were out of sight.

Arthur reloaded his guns as he and John ran without saying a word. He wished he’d had the time to hold his wife and kiss her and tell her he loved her but they had no time. Even before they reached the end of the path, three men gripping guns were walking towards them, and he was all too aware of how close they were to his friends.

He and John slowed, eyeing the men warily because they weren’t firing at them. Yet.

The man in the middle, a tall, barrel-chested man, smiled.

“Well, well, well... ain’t you a persistent pair. This is your last chance to turn around and head on home, boys.”

“Nah, we got somethin’ to do here,” Arthur drawled, shifting his stance. “Sure _you_ don’t wanna head on home?”

The man laughed, truly delighted at the challenge.

“Sounds like there was more of ya... Just you two now is it?”

“Yeah,” John said before Arthur could answer. “Just us.”

The man nodded. “Well, then, boys, it was nice to meet ya.”

Guns clicked as they were raised, but it was John and Arthur who were faster. The sounds of their bullets echoed across the ridge, mingling with the cries of the men. The one they’d spoken to had wide eyes, incredulous that they had been beaten.

Lowering their guns as the bodies dropped, John and Arthur continued on, the younger man wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We gotta be close if he’s sendin’ someone out to try and reason with us.”

“I think he wanted 'em to kill us, not reason.”

Arthur hadn’t exactly been keeping track but Sadie had to be right, there had to be only a few of them left now, yet he couldn’t imagine Micah giving up or being afraid; he was too arrogant, too wily. He also had a feeling that if Micah knew who was about to storm into his camp, then he wouldn’t have sent all his men out to die in the snow.

Their route took them down now, finally, giving them the high ground and the advantage as they ran down, shooting at the men they could now finally see. There were only three, and they were surprised and alarmed, having expected their own men to have succeeded.

“You’re ridin’ with a turncoat!” John yelled tauntingly as two more men appeared on a cliff, he and Arthur killing them instantly. “You’re fools or worse!”

They were nearing a narrow pass between two cliffs, a man stood guarding at it while another was high on the cliff above. As John fired at the man on the cliff, Arthur killed the man at the pass, and then heard snow crunch behind him. For a second he thought it might be Ada following them down, but just before he could turn someone crashed into him, a man practically growling.

“You’re dead men!” he was shouting, and Arthur gritted his teeth as he shoved his elbow back, driving it into the man’s side. He hadn’t been strong enough to knock him to the ground but he had a wild energy, his eyes wide as he went at him with his fists.

Darting backwards, Arthur then struck him with the butt of his revolver before driving _him_ back now, striking him again before shooting him.

“C’mon, Arthur!” John called and Arthur turned away, running through the narrow pass with him.

A man was waiting for them at the end but he was dealt with swiftly. Another came darting over a rock and he was flung backwards sharply by John’s bullet.

“This way!” Arthur shouted and John followed him up a hill, their breaths harsh.

They were more skilled shots than the men they had currently faced but they were having to do more running, and their lungs were starting to burn.

But Arthur knew they were moments away from the camp when four men surged over the hill towards them, firing repeatedly. Shoving John behind a rock, he crouched with him, flinching a couple of times as bullets battered against it, making pieces break off. They ducked out when they could, firing back at the men who had slowed slightly but were still advancing towards them.

Micah’s men were getting desperate, though, and desperation made way for mistakes. The mountain widened out up here and there were no more rocks beyond theirs to hide behind. The men, realising this in the same moment they realised they needed to reload, charged forward, hoping to take the two men by surprise. Instead, they handed themselves to Arthur and John.

They died only a few feet away, their blood seeping into the snow. Rising, John and Arthur darted up the hill and were finally greeted by the sight of groups of tents, firepits and two crumbling shacks. They didn’t have a chance to take it all in, though, as a few men hid amongst the crates and cloth tents, shooting at them the moment they saw them. Grabbing Arthur’s arm, John pulled him behind a stack of wooden boxes, and they returned the fire.

“How many of ‘em are there?” Arthur asked as loudly as he could over the noise. leaning back against the boxes as he reloaded.

John ducked down as he exhaled a breath, rolling his shoulders. “Three, I think. Could be more, though, hidin’.”

Peering around the boxes, Arthur’s gaze landed on something that made a corner of his mouth lift. “Well, let’s flush ‘em out.”

Raising his revolver, he aimed at a crate of dynamite and pulled the trigger. The explosion made the ground shake and flung wood and debris across the snow. Ducking down, Arthur and John covered their heads as it rained down, the sounds of men crying out accompanying it, along with, “ _You bastards!_ ”

The two men, using the settling snow and dust as cover, darted towards the tents, shooting the men they came across. They died quickly, disorientated from the blast. Heading on, they moved down a hill, another cluster of tents to their left but no sign of anyone so they continued on down, the hill declining steeply. The sudden silence uneased them so they slowed their pace a little, but it didn’t stop John from calling out.

“Micah! Get out here!”

They came to a single tent on a small space of flat land with a fire still burning outside it, and Arthur saw the flash of movement first. He shot the man as they continued walking. As they came to yet another steep decline, they saw it.

The watchtower was smaller than Arthur had expected, with a wide roof on it and a closed door, and there were two more crumbling shacks outside it, a firepit, stacked boxes, and planks of wood and a wagon strewn about, but there was no one to be seen.

Their boots slid in the knee-deep snow as they made their way down, eyes darting from the tower to the shacks. It was quiet still, not even the wind whistling or howling. It was a long stretch of snow, and Arthur was suddenly aware of how cold and numb his face felt while his body was so warm under the thick coat from all the running and climbing. Grazing his teeth over his lower lip, he exhaled a long breath, though it did nothing to relieve the tension in his shoulders.

“Micah, if you’re here, come out!” John called out again as he and Arthur approached, on flat ground now.

They paused near a wide, open box on a wooden platform, scanning the camp, just waiting for the sound of a gun.

There was silence. Licking his lips, Arthur raised his eyes to the look-out of the watchtower as John called again, “Micah Bell! Get out here, you coward!”

The creaking of the wooden door a few moments later had their eyes snapping to it, their fingers tightening around their guns.

“Hello, Scarface,” Micah Bell drawled as he stepped out, the door swinging shut behind him. “And...”

He trailed off, his gaze having slid to Arthur. Both men, having believed the other dead, stared at each other.

Micah had aged, his face now somewhat gaunt, beard and moustache thinner, the blonde lighter, and his hair, under a white hat, was shorter. He had a thick brown coat on that was tied tightly around his wait by a belt that also held the two things he loved most in the world: his guns.

A smile suddenly broke across his features, and he shook his head.

“Cowpoke.” The old nickname was said slow and pointed, his eyes shining with glee. “Well, what a damn surprise. Must be for you, too.” Holding his arms out, he tilted his head. “Did you miss me?”

It was John who answered, Arthur silent as he didn’t take his eyes off of him.

“Not much.”

Micah’s gaze slid from one man to the other. “Been a few years.”

John, watching him watching them, went to move around the fire pit in front of them, wanting to spread him and Arthur out, but Micah suddenly darted closer to the same side as him, chuckling lowly, his smile lingering.

“How’s that, uh... Mmm...” He raised his hand slightly, as if trying to pluck the name he knew out of the air. “... That _whore_ of yours?”

John didn’t take the bait. “She’s good. Didn’t reckon I should waste my time killin’ you, but I felt different.”

“So it seems.” Micah looked to Arthur, raising his eyebrows slightly. “What about you, cowpoke... That uptight bitch still keepin’ you warm?”

John glanced briefly at Arthur, not wanting to take his eyes off Micah for long, and found he hadn’t moved an inch, his features expressionless. He thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then Arthur nodded a few times.

“Yeah, matter of fact she is. And she did reckon I should kill you.” 

Micah’s smile grew a couple of inches wider. Raising his arms, he tilted his head. “Well, maybe after all this is over, I’ll go pay ‘em both a call, hm?” He turned his gaze to John. “And the boy.”

His tone made Arthur’s skin prickle, but he stayed still. John shrugged. They both knew what was about to happen.

“Whatever you say.”

The moment the words had left John’s mouth, Micah was drawing his guns and firing at them. They dove for cover as he swiftly moved backwards towards the shack behind him. John ducked behind two crates as Arthur crouched by the wide box on the platform, glancing at one another.

“I got more men comin’, boys!” Micah called, ceasing his fire as he took his own cover.

He fired in their general direction before it went quiet again, and Arthur peered out. As Micah appeared to fire, Arthur found he was by the side of the watchtower, using that rather than the shack.

“I look forward to meetin’ em!” John answered, shifting his position so he could rise up a little and fire at Micah.

He picked the wrong moment.

He hissed out a breath as Micah’s bullet grazed his forearm, swiftly dropping down again.

“You okay?” Arthur watched him mutter a curse as he inspected his arm, blood soaking through his jacket.

“‘m fine. Flesh wound.”

“All righ’, if we—”

“Run while you can, boys! It’s your only hope!”

Meeting John’s gaze, Arthur shifted closer to the edge of the box, keeping his voice low.

“He ain’t got more men comin’, we both know that. It’s just us against him here. If you cover me, I can get to the tower and take him from the other side—”

A hail of bullets battered against the wood protecting them as Micah fired at them while he ran from the tower to the shack, and then to the other.

“Shit...” Arthur muttered, his jaw moving.

“I can make you rich, boys! Real rich!”

“He’s gotta reload at some point,” John murmured, wetting his lips. “Should be any moment now—”

More bullets came and they flinched, lowering their heads. Then, it stopped suddenly. Arthur glanced up at John as he frowned, and was about to open his mouth when they heard a familiar voice.

“Come on out, Micah,” Sadie called, pain lacing her tone. “At least die like a man.”

Micah gave a delighted laugh. “Ooh, ho, ho, hellfire...”

Raising their heads, John and Arthur watched as Sadie, stood in the larger shack that lay between Micah’s current one he was using as cover and the watchtower, aimed a gun at him, her hand pressed against the scarf that was now wrapped around her middle.

“Where’s Ada and Charles?” Arthur hissed, glancing up at the snowy hill before swiftly looking back to Sadie.

“... it’s just like old times,” Micah was saying as he slowly raised his hands, his guns still in them, turning towards Sadie.

“C’mon,” she demanded through gritted teeth, taking a step closer. “You turn around...” She stumbled slightly and had to lean against the wooden fencing next to her. Arthur’s heart sank as he watched Micah laugh while Sadie continued, “... and start walkin’.”

And Micah did. Rising to their feet, the men watched Sadie move towards him, pressing her gun into his back and shoving him on.

“You got me,” he snapped, glancing over his shoulder at her, before his gaze went to Arthur and John as they approached. His tone lightened to an almost sing-song as he smiled again. “Just like old times, hm?” He holstered one gun. “All manner of folk payin’ social calls.” He holstered the other.

Arthur felt sick at his knowing smile.

Then, the watchtower door was shoved open.

Startled, Sadie, John and Arthur looked to it, and Arthur felt his heart stop.

_Jesus Christ._

Dutch van der Linde stepped out of the watchtower, the guns in his hands raised and pointed at them.

“Hello, sons,” he greeted, eyes shifting from the silent men to Sadie. “Mrs Adler. Been quite a while.”


	28. Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

“You’re a God damn idiot.”

Clenching her jaw, Ada raised her eyes to the woman whose life she was trying to save.

“Excuse me?”

Shaking her head, Sadie raised her eyebrows, practically wheezing out her breaths. “You’re an idiot. You’re not gonna go with ‘em? Gonna stay here with the sick and dyin’?”

“You’re not dying,” Ada muttered, the words cutting at her again as she pressed the scarf hard against the wound.

Sadie hissed out a sound that was a jumble of a curse and a prayer, having to take a few breaths before she spoke again. “Well, _I’m_ gonna go.”

_Christ, she’s even more stubborn than Millie._

_“No_ , you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am. Was gunna go even if you hadn’t’ve stayed. Just thought it’d get y’all off my back if I agreed with ya.”

The hand Sadie pushed her away with was gentle, but she also used the grip to help herself up, inhaling a sharp breath. Ada’s mouth dropped open as she looked at her, releasing an exasperated breath. Meeting Charles’s gaze incredulously, she raised her eyebrows.

“Charles, please help me here.”

The wounded man, leaning against a rock and sat in the snow, just shrugged his good shoulder as he shook his head. “You know we can’t stop her.”

She looked to Sadie again and found her smiling faintly as she reloaded her guns.

He was right and Ada hated it.

Licking her lips, she released another breath, this one resigned. “Fine, all right. But _please_ just let me tie this around you.”

“Fine.” Sadie raised her arms to give Ada space as she rose up on her knees, winding the scarf around her torso and tying it tightly.

Once she was satisfied, Ada stood, wiping the blood from her gloves onto her coat. She hoped Abigail wouldn’t mind too much, all things considered, and, well, if she even survived. Glancing at Sadie, she didn’t know how the other woman was still standing. She was leaning against the rock, but the determination and fury she could see on her features must have been what was keeping her going. Ada wished she felt even a small drop of that. She still just felt nothing. Even when she’d watched Arthur and John go ahead, no emotion had overwhelmed her, no fear, no anxiousness. She knew she was pushing it all away, that at some point she’d break, if she didn’t die.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that, too, as they’d made the journey to the mountain and up it.

_I could die at any moment._

The thought of something so final, so shattering to those that she loved, happening just... it was just a possibility. Not something that she would endeavour to avoid, just... something that might happen. And she didn’t know why. Numbness just overwhelmed her.

“You comin’?”

Sadie’s voice brought her back to the mountain, her eyes darting up to her. Her friend’s eyebrows were raised but concern was starting to seep into her gaze. Ada didn’t want to see it. Nodding, she cleared her throat as she looked to the path ahead.

“Yeah. Sounds like they’re making their way through.”

Shots echoed up from wherever the men were, a small comfort to them.

“That it does. Charles?”

Ada turned just in time to see Charles nod as he got to his feet with a jagged breath. “Yeah, I’m comin’. Don’t know what good I’ll do, though.”

“Just watch our backs,” Sadie said with a small smile, gun gripped firmly in one hand. “Now let’s go.”

They came across the three dead men in the snow, uncomfortably close to where they’d been, and moved over them, Charles hanging back for a couple of moments to take what ammunition he could find. Bodies littered the way as they followed John and Arthur’s boot prints in the snow, crimson blood staining the white, though they were still cautious, glancing up at the cliffs every few moments; Ada wouldn’t put it past any of Micah’s men to be lurking around, waiting. They could still hear the faint sound of gunshots, too, though they were growing closer.

Sadie stumbled, her boot falling further than she thought it was going to in the snow, and she cursed as the movement pulled at her side. She waved Ada off, however, as she approached to help. “I’m fine, I’m fine...”

They continued on, making their way through a narrow pass, and from the sounds of the shooting, Ada knew they had to be close now—

An explosion erupted, making the mountain shake.

“Fuck...” Ada gasped as she leaned against the rock, gripping onto it.

Sadie and Charles were doing the same, desperately hoping no fragments would break off and rain down on them. It held, though, and as the land settled, they glanced at one another.

They quickened their pace. Sadie moved surprisingly quickly ahead of her, but Ada hated the sound of her breaths, laboured and pained.

She hated more that the mountain was now quiet. They couldn’t be dead. They wouldn’t be dead.

_They’ll be fine, they’ll be fine, they’ll be fine._

It wasn’t until, as they moved up a hill to an empty camp, they heard John’s voice that she felt herself take a proper breath, her shoulders dropping. He was calling for Micah, and as they came over the main peak of the camp and saw the watchtower, she saw the two men approaching it, alive and well, John continuing to call out.

“Ada.”

Tearing her gaze away, she looked to Sadie who was pointing to something in front of her. Following the direction, she found a sniper rifle propped against a crate. Shouldering her Repeater, she grabbed it, swiftly checking the condition and if it needed reloading.

“All right, good,” she murmured once she was satisfied, licking her lips and glancing up at Sadie. “You two stay...”

She trailed off at finding Sadie’s and Charles’s backs to her, their bodies rigid. Moving closer, her heart stuttering, she followed their staring gaze down towards the watchtower, and saw him.

Micah Bell stood before a firepit, arms lifted as he spoke though they were unable to hear his words.

“Oh, God,” Ada breathed, her grip tightening on the rifle. “He’s really here.”

“Yeah, he is,” Sadie murmured, a bite to her tone. “And he’s all alone.”

Ada’s gaze darted about the small camp down below and _oh my God, he is_.

She could feel a strange excitement starting to radiate off of Sadie as she shifted her stance.

“We could take ‘im alive,” she murmured to them, nodding. “We could take ‘im alive and let people see ‘im swing for his crimes. Get us all a decent reward, too.”

Ada glanced at Charles, who although he looked like he very much needed to sit down seemed to still be alert as he met her gaze, and she realised they could. They had the advantage here; it was five against one, no matter the state two of them were in, and there was no way Micah wouldn’t have sent his men out to face Arthur and John before he did... they could see him brought to _justice_ and so could many others.

Nodding slowly, Ada licked her lips again. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah, I have an idea.” Turning to them, she held the rifle out. “You two stay here and keep an eye out with this, I’ll go down and—”

“Nah, lady, I’m goin’,” Sadie cut in, one side of her mouth lifting. “You’re stayin’ up here and keepin’ us safe.”

“Sadie, you can’t—”

“You got the steadiest hands here, Ada.”

Ada opened her mouth, then closed it as her gaze darted down to theirs. She wasn’t wrong there. Sadie’s were shaking slightly and Charles could barely hold his own gun now.

“Right, fine, I—”

Gunshots suddenly broke out down below and they flinched, their eyes darting to the men. They were firing at one another, John and Arthur taking for cover as Micah moved backwards, firing relentlessly at them.

“Shit...” Sadie hissed as their eyes fixed on their friends. “Ada, we don’t got time to argue about this, I’m goin’ down there now so you watch our backs, all right?” She continued even before Ada nodded, “If you need to take a shot and kill ‘im, do it, but we _can_ take ‘im alive.”

“Okay, _please_ be careful.”

“Oh, I will.”

Ada and Charles watched her duck low and move swiftly down the hill towards them, heading to the edge of the cliff. Gritting her teeth, Ada lowered to the snow, settling on her stomach, and aimed the rifle, peering through the scope at Micah.

Exhaling a long, slow breath, she settled her finger over the trigger.

* * *

Arthur’s heart, which he thought had stopped moments ago, was now racing.

Dutch was here. Alive. And with Micah.

He hadn’t changed, except for now having a full beard, and he, too, had a thick coat on. The large rings Arthur could have drawn from memory were still adorning his fingers, and his guns, one pointed at him and John, the other at Sadie, were the ones he had always had and prized. Arthur didn’t know to say, what the hell to _do_ , but he didn’t have the chance to think anyway.

It happened so fast.

Micah spun, knocking Sadie’s arm aside and grabbing her. They grunted as they wrestled with one another, but Arthur would have been ashamed to have admitted later, if he’d had the chance, that he hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away from Dutch to see how she was doing. He felt John beside him, tense and hissing out curses as he watched, but Arthur just looked at Dutch, and Dutch looked at him.

The older man must have heard Micah greet them, must have had a few, private minutes as they’d shot at one another to process that he alive, so Arthur hated that his own feelings must have been playing out on his features now for all the world to see. His lips were parted, his eyes were wider and his gun wasn’t even raised. 

Dutch’s own features were expressionless.

Arthur had convinced himself, about a year or so ago, maybe even before, when Millie had been born, in a moment of pure happiness and contentment, that he’d forgiven Dutch, that, yes, he’d fucked everything, not handled it well at all, but he’d been doing what he’d thought was best for everyone around him.

Time had a fucking awful way of softening memories.

He saw now, despite everything that had happened, he’d still been trying to justify Dutch’s actions, to give him the benefit of the doubt... yet here he was, with Micah the rat still, and pointing a gun at him.

Dutch was the first to look away when Sadie released a yell through gritted teeth as Micah hauled her up from the snow where they’d been grappling and held her tight against him, his gun pointed at her head.

John was aiming his own gun at them, furious energy crackling through him as he just about managed to stop himself from lunging forward.

Micah knew this, a smile pulling at his lips as he gestured his gun at them. “Now, boys... Now... What were you sayin’?”

John swallowed hard, not knowing what the _hell_ to do. Glancing briefly at Arthur, he found the other man frozen still, his fucking _gun_ not even pointed at either of them, and not saying a damn word, just staring at Dutch. Looking himself towards the older man, John jerked his chin at him.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, Dutch?”

He just had one gun raised now, at him and Arthur. “Same as you, I suppose.”

He sounded so... _unlike_ Dutch. Weary, John would have even said, like none of this mattered.

Micah, on the other hand, was drinking in every single moment. “Dutch and I are teamin’ up once more... We got money... We got dreams...” Glancing at Dutch, his gaze returned to John, his smile widening. “... Join us, boys... Join us.”

Arthur still wasn’t saying a fucking thing and John’s heart was pounding against his ribcage. He was aiming at Micah, the man’s arm still tight around Sadie, but he didn’t trust that Dutch wouldn’t fire at any moment and just kill him, end what he’d tried to let happen in those last few days. Licking his cracked lips, he exhaled a short breath.

What the _hell_ was he supposed to do?

* * *

Ada could hear her own breathing as she stared through the sniper-scope, her blood running cold, body frozen, and it wasn’t because she was lying in the snow.

“Is that...” Charles breathed beside her, “... What the hell is _Dutch_ doing here?”

“I don’t know...” she heard herself whisper, “... I don’t know... I don’t know...”

This changed everything.

The fact he was still with Micah, after _everything_... She’d watched him walk away from Micah on that mountain, that was the _one_ thing he’d done right in those last few days, the _one_ thing that had given him a shred of redemption in her eyes over the years, yet here he fucking was... and he was aiming at _Arthur_.

She looked at her husband, saw how rigid he was and knew it wasn’t from the cold. There had been some dark days after the mountain, when he’d been recovering both physically and mentally. Days when he’d convinced himself he could have saved Dutch, that it had been his fault for not noticing the change in him sooner and the terrible things it had led to. She’d had to hold him, tears in her eyes and on his cheeks, and tell him over and over that he’d done all he could and it wasn’t his fault. It had taken some time, years, even, but on a quiet night soon after Millie was born, as they sat on their porch watching the sun set, he’d told her he'd forgiven Dutch. She hadn’t understood why or how he could, but she saw how at peace he was then at having done so, how relieved he was... and now that had been completely undone.

She didn’t think it was possible, but she’d never hated Dutch van der Linde more than she did right now.

Charles’s jagged gasp tore her from her thoughts and she watched as Micah drove Sadie into the snow, trying to wrestle the gun out of her hand. 

Lifting her head suddenly, Ada shoved the sniper rifle towards Charles, her heart racing.

“Stay here,” she murmured as she pushed herself up, “Don’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

* * *

He wished he was just a few inches closer to Arthur so he could elbow him out of whatever had overtaken him without it being obvious. If he’d had time to think about it, he would have thought Arthur would have been enraged at the sight of Dutch, would have been demanding to know what the hell was going on, would have at least been aiming his _gun_ at him, finger on the trigger.

But no, his brother was still silent.

Adjusting his grip on his gun, John kept it fixed on Micah. “Let her go.”

Sadie was staring at the ground, and probably wouldn’t have been upright if it hadn’t been for Micah’s grip, and the man just continued to smile.

“Now, I can’t do that, John.”

John could feel himself growing desperate and that was the last thing he wanted to show right now. “Dutch... Dutch, c’mon now!”

Dutch gazed at him, still expressionless. “You shot at me, son.”

“You shot at us first.”

All their eyes darted to Arthur as he finally spoke, his jaw clenched, voice tight.

Here was the anger now, and it seemed it had instantly provoked it in Dutch, too, his words bursting out of him.

“You _betrayed_ me!”

“I could say the same thing. You left John for dead, me for dead. Didn’t even look back, after all them years.” Arthur’s tone was as cold as the silent air around them, though his gun remained by his side.

Dutch pressed his lips together, taking a few moments before he spoke. “I was tryin’ to do my _best_... _you_... you just cared for yourselves.”

“I think differently. All I ever did was care about you. I gave you my life, twenty years of it. Nearly died tryin’ to save you from this rat, yet here you are.”

The two men gazed at one another, silent as Arthur’s words lingered between them. It was Micah who broke the quiet.

“Join us, boys, c’mon... It doesn’t have to be like this...”

His arm was slightly higher around Sadie now, practically choking her, and she released a stuttered groan, trying to pull at it.

“Let her go!” John demanded, trying so hard to not take a step forward. “She ain’t well!”

“Do as he says.”

Micah’s barked laugh died on his tongue, and John felt relief wash over him as Ada appeared a short distance from his side, her Repeater raised.

Her gaze darted from the blond man to Dutch, and she saw nothing cross his features as he stared at her. 

And then a muscle in his jaw twitched and he raised his other gun to her.

“You—”

Arthur’s revolver ‘clicked’ as he aimed it at Dutch, the older man stilling instantly as his gaze shifted from the gun to him.

“I see,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” was all Arthur said, gaze fixed on him.

Micah’s laugh returned, long and exuberant. “Ooh, well, well, well, if it ain’t her majesty herself, still alive and kickin’!”

“Let her go.” Ada ignored him, echoing John’s words.

He sighed, grinning. “C’mon, now, I don’t wanna kill any of ya when we’ve just reunited. Join us! You can come, too, Miss Prissy Missy! If you’re good...” He tilted his head, leaning it against Sadie’s, the blonde woman gritting her teeth as she snarled. “Or are we just gonna stand around glarin’ at each other?”

“Dutch...” John’s voice silenced them all, even Micah falling quiet. He shook his head slightly as the older man met his gaze. “... Dutch, we all did our best for you. Ain’t our fault things turned out the way they did.”

He was silent.

“Killin’ us won’t solve anythin’, Dutch,” Arthur murmured, pulling Dutch’s gaze back to him. “John’s right, we did our best, and... Well, we came here for Micah, not you.”

Micah chuckled lowly, holding Ada’s gaze as he tightened his arm around Sadie. Ada grit her teeth, her finger hovering over the trigger.

Dutch looked between his two former gang members, former sons. It felt like a lifetime before he spoke.

“Do you remember the last time we were up in the mountains, all of us together... How long ago that was...”

John shifted slightly, unease weighing heavily on him like a rock. What was the point in this?

Arthur shifted, too, resting his weight on one foot as he nodded slowly. “Yeah, long time ago. Lot of things have changed since then, though, huh. Now John and I, we got families. He’s got Abigail and Jack, and Ada and I... we got a kid of our own, Dutch, and we wanna get home to her.”

Dutch gazed at him.

Micah barked out a laugh, raising his eyebrows at Ada. “You let cowpoke over there reproduce? Hell, the Lord save us all. What’s her name? Oh, go on, tell me,” he prompted at her silence.

Ada felt her lip curl as she stared at him, not knowing how she wasn’t pulling the trigger. 

"Amelia.” Arthur answered Micah, though his eyes remained on Dutch. “We call her Millie.”

Dutch still didn’t say a word.

“Ooh, well, congratulations on little Millie. Can’t wait to be introduced...” 

Micah laughed as Ada tried to take a step towards him, but John had swiftly reached out and grabbed her arm, keeping her in place.

"You fucking son of a bitch...” she hissed, her grip so tight on the Repeater her hands were almost shaking.

“You there when he killed that little girl, Dutch?” Arthur asked quietly, like it was just the two of them on that mountain.

Silence.

Ada and Micah weren’t looking away from one another, and Sadie was staring at her, too, wheezing out her breaths. John had released Ada’s arm but kept his hand slightly raised, just in case she went to lunge again, though he had half a mind to not stop her, while his other hand kept his gun trained on Micah, too. Arthur was still to the other side of him, so still... and Dutch... Dutch was silent still.

It enraged John, how passive he was, how unfeeling, and that he was here with _Micah_. He just couldn’t believe it. After all these years, after what Arthur and Ada had told him happened on that mountain...

“ _Say_ somethin’, Dutch!” he snapped suddenly, tired of the older man just standing there, like he hadn’t _chosen_ this. “ _Say somethin’!_ ”

Dutch glanced at him. “I ain’t got too much to say no more...”

They barely had time to take a breath.

Raising his other hand, Dutch aimed the gun held in it at Micah and fired.

The bullet tore through his torso as Sadie lunged out of his grip, falling to her knees. They should have gone to help her, but Ada, who had inhaled a sharp breath, and John and Arthur were frozen in their positions, eyes wide, lips parted.

Yet no one was more shocked than Micah. He stared at Dutch, watching the man holster his guns as he swayed slightly. Touching his gloved fingers against the hole in his chest, as if he couldn’t believe it was real, he marvelled, “You shot me.”

Then, he laughed, the sound horrible and low. Sucking in a breath, he nodded, teeth dragging over his lower lip.

“You shot me pretty good.”

His head rolled to the side, his eyes fixing on her, and Ada knew it was going to happen. Micah swiftly raised both of his beloved guns and aimed them at her and John. She didn’t hesitate. He was fast, but she and John were faster.

The sound of their bullets echoed across the snow, and not one of them was Micah’s. They buried into him and a spluttered, stunned groan slipped from his lips. He suddenly pressed them together tightly, confining strange sounds to the back of his throat as his arms dropped to his sides, his guns clattering on the rocky ground as they fell from his grasp. He gazed at them and his body turned a few moments later in a strange, jerking motion. His back to them, he took a few steps forward as he nodded again, raising his hands slightly, questioningly, and then his legs gave out. Collapsing forwards, Micah Bell died a second before he hit the ground.

Swallowing hard, it was several moments before Ada lowered her gun, her hands shaking.

She couldn’t believe it... she just...

“Thank you...” John said suddenly, stumbling over his words, no one else knowing what to say, the gesture awkward, but... Dutch had _saved_ them. “I... I, uh...”

Her eyes darted to Dutch, who was gazing at John, then to the two men. They looked so utterly lost. They were boys again, for the briefest of moments, looking to their leader, father and friend in where to go from here. Arthur’s gun was by his side, as was John’s, and neither of them knew what to say. _Was_ there anything to say?

Dutch didn’t seem to think so.

As John tried to find words, Dutch started to walk. When he passed the men, something akin to... disappointment shrouded his features, or maybe even faint contempt, anger. Or all three.

“Dutch.”

The older man paused at Arthur’s voice while John holstered his gun and hurried over to Sadie who was trying to get on her feet with a grunt. As Dutch turned to him, Arthur held the gaze of the man he’d have once died for, weariness overtaking him.

“We’re doin’ you a mercy here.”

Dutch didn’t react to the gentle warning, and for a few moments Arthur thought he wasn’t going to reply. 

“Maybe it is I who is doing the mercy.”

The warning had been reciprocated.

He turned away again as Arthur wet his dry lips, his heart pounding. He watched the man continue on, not looking back once.

Ada watched him, too, stepping to the side slightly so he could pass her. He paused before her, though, his eyes meeting hers. She didn’t look away and didn’t react, even though she had no idea what he was searching her gaze for. She didn’t know what possessed her to say it, either, as the silence went on. Perhaps it was the manners her mother had drummed into her.

Licking her lips, she cleared her throat. “I hope you can find happiness.”

She could have yelled at him, could have demanded justice for the death of her father but... what good would it have done? What would have been the point? Dutch was leaving without a fight, and he’d done them a favour. It would almost have been cruel to challenge him then, to execute him. She’d come to terms with the events of her life anyway, and killing this man wouldn’t bring her father back. Part of her told her she was just trying to be superior.

He gazed at her, mouth in a thin line, and she thought she saw a shine to his eyes.

She thought it was regret.

It was too late when she saw the rage that flooded his features.

Dutch lunged. 

He drew one of his guns in the same moment that he reached out and gripped the front of her coat, yanking her forward against him as yells erupted behind him. Her eyes were wide as she gasped, the Repeater falling from her hand, and she couldn’t look away from his furious gaze as he pressed the barrel of the gun against her chest.

A gunshot rang out and she flinched with a sharp gasp.

Dutch stared down at her, face inches from hers, exhaling short, harsh breaths. Tears slipped from his eyes as he blinked.

And then he choked as blood trickled out of the corners of his mouth.

He used his grip on her to steady himself now as he turned his head to look behind him, a quiet, strained sound coming from the back of his throat. 

Arthur didn’t move, his gun still raised, his breaths, visible in the cold air, coming slow and long.

Dutch released another strange sound, and his legs gave out. His gun fell from his hand as he dropped down to his knees, and he now gripped at the bottom of Ada’s coat. Wheezing his exhaled breaths, his other hand went to the hole in his stomach, as if, like Micah, he couldn’t quite believe it was real yet. He made another faint sound at feeling it. His hand resting over it, he gazed at the white snow behind her, his breathing jagged. His eyes moved after a few moments, trailing their way up towards the sky. A bird flew across the grey vastness of it, and when he blinked again, following it, tears dripped down his cheeks. The sun was trying to break through the thick clouds, a few shafts of light illuminating the dark feathers of the bird, before they were gone, vanishing as soon as they had come. His hand slid from her coat as he grunted, his body hunching over slightly, and his eyes fell shut. 

It was another moment or so before Dutch van der Linde collapsed onto the snow, dead.

Arthur stared at the body, finally lowering his gun. He exhaled a shaking breath, his shoulders dropping. Glancing at John, he found the younger man looking at him as he held Sadie up, eyes wide, but not shocked or saddened. He just nodded, and Arthur returned it, relieved beyond words that the guilt he had expected wasn’t coming. He returned his gaze to Dutch’s body, and he felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in a very, very long time.

It was Ada’s heaving sob that finally made them all tear their eyes away from the body.

Tears ran down her flushed cheeks as another sob escaped her, her hand pressed against her left side, just above her hip.

Blood was spilling through her fingers.

“Oh, _shit_...” he heard Sadie gasp.

Arthur felt like a knife had pierced his heart as he swiftly holstered his gun and strode towards her. “Ada... Awh, shit, oh, sweetheart...”

Reaching her, one hand gripped her shoulder as the other pulled hers away from her side, and he froze, staring at the wound that was bleeding profusely. Pressing both their hands firmly over it, his eyes darted up to meet hers, his chest twisting unbearably.

She was crying so hard she was barely able to take a breath but she was mumbling over and over in between her sobs something he couldn’t make out.

“What’s that, sweetheart? Are you okay?”

“Fuck, shit, here, take this...”

He watched her try to take a breath as John suddenly appeared at his side, holding out a strip of material he must have torn from his shirt. Arthur took it with blood stained fingers and nudged her hand away before pressing it over the wound. 

She hissed as her features crumbled, and managed to take in enough of a breath to say clearly, “... it’s over, it’s over... it’s over...”

Her gaze dropped to Dutch’s body beside her as she sobbed, every feeling she’d suppressed in the last several hours overwhelming her.

It was over, it was truly, _truly_ all over.

Arthur’s hand went from her shoulder to her cheek, cupping it and stroking it gently with his thumb as he tried to meet her gaze. “Yeah, they’re both dead, sweetheart, it’s okay...” He swallowed hard as he felt the blood against his fingers. “... Oh, my darlin’, shit, I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, I thought with the angle you were at— Woah, hey, hey...”

Her legs had buckled and he caught her. Murmuring low, soft words, he swept her up into his arms, holding her against him.

The motion had pained her, he had seen it, and she gazed up at him, tears falling thick and fast down her cheeks. He swallowed again, having to blink to clear his vision.

“I’m so sorry, Ada, you’re gonna be okay, though, all righ’? We’re gonna get you some help.”

Her lower lip was trembling. “I’m fine... It hurts but...”

“All righ’, okay, we gotta get you to a doctor, though, all righ’? You, Sadie and Charles, okay?”

She nodded, one hand gripping at his coat as the other pressed the strip of John’s shirt against the wound. “I’m fine...”

He knew she was lying.

“Money...”

Blinking again, the voice almost startling him, he looked over at Sadie who was leaning against the wooden shack, looking so drained.

“What?”

She nodded at the watchtower, raising her eyebrows as she coughed. “Money from Blackwater should be in there...”

Arthur’s gaze darted to John’s before back to Sadie. “Really?”

She tilted her head, arching an eyebrow. “You think I’d say somethin’ like that if it weren’t true?”

Running his tongue along his teeth, Arthur exhaled a breath. “We gotta get off this mountain and find a doctor.”

Sadie chuckled, standing upright. “I ain’t leavin’ without it, we deserve somethin’, don’t we?”

Arthur glanced at John again, watching him already heading towards the tower. Adjusting his grip on Ada, he shook his head.

“You can do all the searchin’ you want, I’m gonna get back to the horses and you should be righ’ behind me.”

Sadie waved her hand, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, right behind ya.” Taking a breath, she looked to Ada before back at him. “She okay?”

He nodded as he turned, heading for the hill. “She’s gonna be fine.”

His heart was thumping against his ribcage. Strawberry was miles away and he wasn’t familiar enough with the land anymore to know what ranches were around and if they would have a doctor, so that just left—

“Arthur.”

He paused at Sadie’s voice and turned back to her, having to bite back a snapped retort as he raised his eyebrows.

Her lips were pressed together, the weariness having returned, and sympathy with it. “Closest town is Valentine.”

His jaw moved. “I know.”

He continued on up the hill, gritting his teeth as he pushed through the snow. Had enough time passed? Would they have forgotten about him and the gang? Would a new sheriff have taken over?

Truthfully, he didn’t fucking care.

Gazing down at his wife, his chest tightened as he found her eyes closed.

“Sweetheart...”

Mercifully, they opened at his voice, though not fully.

He managed a smile, his thumb stroking against her arm. “You keep those beautiful eyes open, okay?”

Her tongue drifted across her dry lips. “It’s so cold.”

“Yeah, you gave your scarf to Charles, you remember, to keep ‘im warm? Then I gave mine to Sadie to help her, and John doesn’t have one but he gave you some of his shirt. Looks like we’ve all been swappin’.”

“You haven’t got anything.”

He smiled again, feeling his eyes sting. “Oh, I get to have you for a few more decades, all righ’? You gonna give me that?”

He thought he saw the faintest of smiles on her lips as she nodded.

“Well, you keep those eyes open, then.”

“Okay.”

Reaching the top of the hill, he found Charles sat on a crate, a rifle in his hands, staring at the snow. Lifting his head, he suddenly rose to his feet at the sight of them and was shaking his head before Arthur could open his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find a safe shot, I tried to but I just couldn’t find it—”

“It’s okay, Charles, it’s all righ’.” He didn’t stop walking. “C’mon, we’re gonna get you both to a doctor.”

Charles followed by his side, gripping at his shoulder again. “Ada, are you okay?”

She hummed out a sound as her reply, and glancing down at her again Arthur found her eyes still open and fixed on the sky. Tears were trailing down her cheeks, and he knew she was trying to breathe steadily.

He hated the memory it dug up from the furthest corner of his mind.

Holding her tighter, he broke into a jog, fucking grateful that it was just downhill from here. Charles kept level with him, most likely grateful that it was just declines, too.

“Where are Sadie and John?”

“Back there. She said the money from Blackwater’s in the tower.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I know.”

“How the hell did Micah and Dutch get it?”

“I don’t know.”

Charles fell silent, knowing his mind was elsewhere and there would be time for questions later... he hoped. His gaze dropped to Ada, watching her stare up at the sky. He had watched through the scope as Dutch had done the same, taking in his last few moments of life. He wanted to ask Arthur how he was feeling, if he himself was all right, but... questions later. 

They were silent the rest of the way down the mountain, barely glancing at the bodies they passed. Charles stumbled once or twice on the descent, but Arthur didn’t see, having taken the lead. Charles didn’t call out to him to slow down either, knowing he wouldn’t, and Charles didn’t want him to.

They found their horses grazing near the trees they’d left them at, their heads lifting instantly at the sound of them. Charles fumbled for something in his saddlebag as Arthur strode for Titan. Noka approached idly at scenting her mistress, but Arthur wanted to hold her as they rode because he didn’t trust that she’d stay upright. Even thinking that practical thought frightened him. Valentine _was_ closer than Strawberry, but it was still quite a ride.

“There you go...” he murmured as he raised her in his arms, settling her on Titan as he gritted his teeth.

She gasped, her lips swiftly pressing together cutting it off.

The hand that had clutched his coat now gripped the pommel, her knuckles whitening, and he glanced up at her as he took Titan’s reins in one hand and prepared to mount and sit behind her.

His heart shattered.

She looked terrified.


	29. Lay Down Your Weary Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

It may have been a shorter ride to Valentine, but it felt like aeons to Arthur.

It was terrifying, having her sat in front of him, being able to hear each pained breath she took, feel how slack her body was. Charles had found some herbs in his saddlebag that helped with the pain, but there was only so much for him and Ada to share.

“You’re all righ’, darlin’, you’re okay...” he’d murmur in her ear, and she’d just make a faint sound in response.

He didn’t want them to stop to rest, but the horses could only gallop for so long. There were too many twists and turns, too, and the last thing he wanted right now was to collide with another traveller, or have the horses stumble and break their legs. Noka was following them as well, trying to get as close as she could to her mistress which had her bumping into Charles’s horse or Titan every few minutes. He kept them to either a canter or a trot, only slowing to a walk when they crossed a rushing section of the Dakota River.

It was early afternoon when Valentine came into view, the air still bitterly cold. Mud muffled the sounds of their hooves as they cantered past a couple of homes; chickens in coops and pigs and goats in pens sounding their surprise. Titan snorted as Arthur slowed him to a brisk trot when they came to the stables and he turned him onto the main street, sweat shining on the horse’s coat. A wagon was rumbling down towards them and people were milling about, crossing from one side to the other or just ambling down it. If he’d had time to take it all in, he’d have found not much had changed from his last visit.

“’scuse me, _move_ , please!” Arthur called tightly, ignoring the tuts and grumbles that came from people stepping aside.

They quickly silenced themselves at the sight of Ada, however. Arthur had one arm tight around her, keeping her against him, but her head had fallen forward at some point, her chin against her chest, and no one could have mistaken what state she was in. The grumblings now turned to murmurings, both concerned and curious. Arthur shut them out.

Pulling Titan to a halt outside the doctor’s office, he released the reins before, while using his forearm to keep her upright, he moved his leg behind him and dropped down from the saddle. Ada bent forward over his arm, unable to hold herself up, and all he could hear was his own breathing. Pulling her down into his arms, he adjusted his grip on her, staring down at her pale face and closed eyes.

“Ada? Ada, darlin’?” he prompted her urgently, striding towards the steps to the office.

She was breathing but it was so shallow, and it was a couple of moments before her eyes half opened, glassy. 

She seemed a thousand miles away; fading.

Swallowing hard, Arthur lifted his head as he reached the top step, his boots loud on the wooden platform, and he used a hand to awkwardly shove the door open, a bell tinkling above it signalling his entry.

“Can I get some help here?” he demanded, meeting the gaze of a bald man to his left who was rising out of his chair behind a counter, startled.

The man swiftly got over his surprise. “Yes, of course, bring her through to the back.”

As Arthur strode across the room full of neatly displayed remedies, herbs and linens, the doctor pushed open a door and quickly began issuing orders to someone as he stepped through.

“Jocelyn, warm water, please, and cloths. And bring me my instruments.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Arthur entered the small room to find a young woman with coiled black hair hurriedly pulling bowls out of a cupboard and placing them on a counter. The doctor reappeared through a metal door to the right of her, finishing tying an apron around himself before he rolled his shirt sleeves up.

“The table, please, sir.” He gestured to a rectangular wooden table in the centre of the room, a clean, white linen cloth covering it, and Arthur moved to the closest side.

He lay her down as carefully as he could, his hand sliding up to the back of her head so it wouldn’t knock against the wood. Removing it gently, he cupped her cheek and gazed at her, his heart thundering in his chest. He could hear the weak breaths she was dragging in, her eyes on the ceiling. Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat as he barely listened to the doctor talking to his assistant.

“Oh, Jocelyn, if you could attend to this gentleman, too. I’m afraid there’s not much room—”

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine. Look after her first.”

Charles’s voice registered to him, he must have been standing in the doorway behind him, but Arthur didn’t listen to them anymore as he gently stroked Ada’s cheek. It was exactly like last time; her stare, her pallor, her weakness—

“Sir? _Sir?_ ”

He lifted his head and found the doctor stood on the other side of the table, his fingers swiftly pulling the piece of John’s shirt they used to try and stem the flow away before he began unbuttoning her coat.

“What happened?”

“Uh, she got shot, I, it was an accident, she got caught up in a crossfire.”

“Has the bullet passed through?” The doctor tore the coat open, and Arthur stared at the hole in her side, blood staining the shirt around it. “ _Sir?_ ”

He stuttered slightly as he heard Ada’s weak groan, the man pressing his fingers around the wound. “Uh, I-I don’t know, I didn’t check—”

“Give me a hand.”

He was about to ask with what when the doctor was suddenly gripping her left thigh and bicep and rolling her to her right, making Arthur quickly cradle the side of her head with one hand and place the other on her waist. She released a small, resistant sound at the movement and his thumb stroked at her cheek, a reassuring murmur on the tip of his tongue when the doctor released her, letting her settle on her back again.

“It hasn’t gone through, I’m gonna have to pull it out.”

Arthur stared at him, his hands frozen on his wife. She’d had a bullet in her this whole time. His eyes followed the man as he grabbed a bag from a counter and returned to the table, setting it down and pulling it open. His stomach turning at the tools that shone within, Arthur’s gaze dropped to her, and met her own. Her eyes were barely open but she was staring up at him, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

He sniffed and stroked her skin again, managing to lift a corner of his mouth. “Hey, you’re gonna be okay, all righ’, you—”

“Sir, please stand out of the way.” The doctor knocked his hand away from her waist, and shoved her shirt up, starting to cut away at the thin cotton corset that lay between him and her skin.

Clearing his throat, Arthur returned his gaze to her, but her eyes were closed now and he quickly looked to her chest. He released a breath when he saw the slow rise and fall of it. Stroking her forehead, he licked his dry lips.

“Gotta keep those beautiful eyes open, sweetheart, remember, you need to—”

A sympathetic but firm hand was placed on his arm and he blinked, lifting his head. The doctor had come around the table and was trying to push him towards the door, inclining his head at it.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to have to wait outside.”

Arthur felt fear claw its way up his throat. “What, no, I’m not leavin’ her—”

The doctor was undeterred, and strong. “Sir, please, there’s only so much room, please wait out there.”

Arthur turned his head, hoping to find Charles on his side, but he was sat on the floor in a corner, his head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed as Jocelyn quickly attended to his wound. She must have convinced him. Arthur, however, was shaking his head.

“No, I-I, I gotta be here for her, just in case—”

“Sir, please let me do my job, I can’t do it in a crowded room and you standing over, she needs space.”

The doctor had manoeuvred him to the doorway, and Arthur gripped the doorjamb, practically digging his heels in as he craned his neck to keep his eyes on her.

“Listen, you son of a bitch, I ain’t leavin’ her! I can’t—”

“ _We’re wasting time, sir!_ ” The doctor’s shout startled him into sudden silence, his gaze snapping up to meet his. Sympathy was still lingering in the man’s eyes but his features were set. “She is bleedin’ to death on that table so are you gonna let me save her?”

Arthur could only, after a moment, nod, his hands slipping from the frame.

The doctor’s voice softened minutely. “Good. Now, please wait outside. We’ll call for you.”

_They’ll call for me... Good or bad, they’ll call for me..._

Arthur, like he was no longer in control of his body, stepped through the doorway and turned with the movement, gazing at his wife. Her hair was spread across the cloth, and from this angle he couldn’t see her face. The last thing he saw before the doctor shut the door was her arm hanging off the table, limp.

His gaze didn’t move, staring at the wood before him. He could hear his own breathing again, ragged. He could also hear the muffled sounds of the doctor moving about, his shoes scuffing against the wooden slats of the floor. The doctor was saying something, too, but again it was muffled. Probably talking about the state she was in, how bad it was, what they’d be able to do and...

He needed fresh air, he couldn’t breathe properly. Turning on his heel, he strode across the store. The door was still open and he didn’t bother to pull it shut behind him as he stepped out, the cold air slamming him in the face. He didn’t care, though; it forced him to suck in a breath that was deep enough to actually fill his lungs and clear his mind a little. He stared at a building opposite as he took in another, watching a man wipe a cloth over the windows, cleaning them. Titan, Noka and Charles’s horse were before it, too, drinking from a water trough, their tails swishing.

Arthur stepped forward until his boot dropped down onto a step, and then he went down, sitting on the edge of the top step. His knees bent, he rested his elbows on them, his gloved fingers lacing together. They slid against each other a little strangely so he glanced down at them, and found blood drying on the leather. He pulled them off and let them fall into the mud between his boots.

Fingers lacing together again, he watched a wagon rumble by, a great, grey Shire horse pulling it along idly as the driver chatted to his partner by his side. They were transporting food, it looked like, crates stacked together marked with the name of a company a few states over. His eyes followed it until it was out of sight, heading round the corner by the hotel. Somewhere, someone was hammering away at something, metal striking metal. It echoed across the small town so Arthur couldn’t place exactly where it was coming from. Maybe there was a blacksmith nearby, crafting some tools or horseshoes. 

Sat there, still, he could feel the cold creeping up on him, the coat not quite thick enough to keep him warm while stationary. And he could feel the coldness of his wedding band against his skin. He swallowed hard as his gaze dropped to the ground. Closing his eyes, he took in long, steadying breaths, just listening to the sounds of horses and people passing by.

It was a few moments before he realised someone was calling his name. His head whipping up, he found Sadie and John slowing their horses as they approached, and he could tell they were trying not to jump to conclusions at the sight of him.

“... Arthur! Are they okay?” Sliding down from his saddle, John swiftly moved to Sadie and her horse, helping her down.

Arthur gazed at the blonde woman, watching her grip at her side as she grimaced, John keeping her upright.

“Arthur?”

At John’s prompt, Arthur glanced up at him and cleared his throat. “Uh, they’re inside there. Doctor’s lookin’ after ‘em. He’s got an assistant in there so you should go in Sadie.”

She nodded, too exhausted to respond, and John helped her up the stairs and into the store.

Arthur didn’t want to look back.

He gazed at the ground, watching the ripples in the small puddles from the movement around them. He vaguely remembered he’d read in the newspaper a few days ago that it was supposed to rain. 

_Well, seems they’d been righ’._

He heard someone behind him, and then John was exhaling a heavy breath as he sat down at his side. Removing his hat, he stretched his legs out as his hands rested on his thighs.

“Jesus Christ...” he sighed quietly, shaking his head a little as he gazed across the street.

Arthur’s chest tightened as his eyes darted to him. “What? You see her? How is she?”

John shook his head quickly, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t see her, a woman just came out and took Sadie in, closed the door before I could get a look in, I’m sorry.”

He nodded once, running a hand down his mouth before he returned his attention to the puddles. He felt John watching him, knowing he was probably trying to find the right thing to say whilst knowing there wasn’t. Finally, Arthur felt his hand on his back a few moments later, patting a couple of times before it was gone. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

John then cleared his throat. “We got the Blackwater money.”

Arthur looked at him, his brow dipping. “What? It was actually there?”

The younger man opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t get a chance to respond.

“Hey, fellers.”

Both men looked up to find a man with thick, grey hair, some former black colouring still lingering in some parts, even though he could only have been a few years older than Arthur, gazing down at them with a welcoming smile. The shining badge on his coat announced that he was the Sheriff of Valentine. 

“Hey,” John answered politely as Arthur just nodded.

The Sheriff nodded towards the doctor’s office, one hand on his hip. “Seems like there’s been quite a commotion. What happened?”

"Well, commotion is the word for it,” was all John said, trying to think of what the hell to say without revealing too much.

“That so?” The Sheriff looked between them. “Who wants to come down to my office and tell me all about it?”

“I will.” John was already making to rise, but Arthur lifted a hand, shaking his head.

“Nah, I will. Can’t just sit here waitin’.”

“Well, all right.” The Sheriff’s smile returned as Arthur dropped his hand, and took a step back.

Getting to his feet, Arthur brushed his hands against his coat before looking down at John. “Come get me if...”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, his lips pausing.

John nodded quickly. “I will.”

John watched the Sheriff gesture for Arthur to lead the way, his gaze darting over the man’s red bandanna tied around his neck, grey coat, black hat, and the shining silver caps on his boots. He seemed a fancy feller, though his smile wasn’t disingenuous. He looked to Arthur, seeing the slump in his broad shoulders, the slight bow of his head. 

_Christ..._

Running his fingers over his mouth, he leaned his elbows on his knees and watched them head down the street towards the jail, praying to whoever was listening that Arthur came out of there.

* * *

The Sheriff, who'd introduced himself as Daniel, held the door open for Arthur and let him pass through first. Stepping into the small building, Arthur found it comprised of a few, vacant jail cells, in fact the entire place was empty, and just enough space left for a fireplace, a board covered with posters and a simple desk. The door closed and Daniel rounded the desk, taking a seat behind it as he gestured at a wooden chair before it for Arthur to do the same. He obeyed, removing his hat and holding it between his hands. Daniel removed his, too, tossing it onto his desk and running a hand through his hair as he leaned back.

“Can I get you anythin’ to drink, uh...?”

“Arthur,” he offered, though nothing more. Yes, it had been some years since he’d been in Valentine, not since he’d robbed the bank with Karen, Bill and Lenny in fact, but the reputation and story of the Van der Linde Gang had lingered long after the night on the mountain. One of the last things he wanted right now was to be thrown into a jail cell. “And no, thank you.”

Sheriff Daniel nodded as he raised a hand. “All right. So, what happened, Arthur?”

He hadn’t planned much by way of explanation. In fact, nothing.

“We got attacked, up near Mount Hagen.”

“Hagen?” Daniel’s jaw moved slightly as his brow dipped. Lifting his chin, he called out, “Hey, Dale?”

A short man they’d passed on the porch opened the door, leaning his head in. “Sir?”

“Ain’t Mount Hagen were that Micah Bell feller is?”

“Some folks say, sir.”

“All right...” He paused for a moment, glancing at Arthur as he rubbed at his eyebrow with his thumb before looking back to Dale. “Hey, see where Benny is, you two might be ridin’ out there later.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

As Dale closed the door, Daniel returned his gaze to Arthur, clearing his throat. 

“I saw Sadie Adler go in the doctor’s office. She’s caught a few bounties for me before, and Micah Bell has a mighty reward. Is that what you were doin’ up there?”

“Nah. We’re all just old friends of Sadie’s, catchin’ up and passin’ by there.”

He couldn’t tell if Daniel believed him, and he didn’t care.

“They attack you and your friends, then?”

“Someone did, a group of ‘em. Sadie got stabbed, our friend Charles got shot as did my...” He paused for a moment. ”... my wife.”

Daniel watched him, his lips pressing together slightly with sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that. Wallace is a hell of a doctor, though. Came all the way down here from Boston, I made sure he was right for the job myself. She’s in good hands.”

It should have been nice, hearing such reassurance from a stranger, but Arthur just nodded, hoping the interrogation would continue so he didn’t have to think.

The Sheriff seemed to sense his mood, and did what he thought was best.

Leaning forward, he settled his forearms on the desk, fingers lacing together. “Listen, uh, head on down to the saloon, tell Jackie there I sent ya. Get yourself a hot meal and a strong drink. We can talk more later.”

Arthur nodded again, and Daniel mistook his disappointment for weariness. “Thank you, sir.”

He smiled warmly, hoping it would reassure the man. “No problem at all. You’ll be safe here, I guarantee it.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” Placing his hat on his head, Arthur stood with a slight nod and moved to the door.

Daniel dropped his gaze after a few moments, opening a drawer of his desk and pulling a sheet of paper and a pen out. He’d have to write a letter to Christopher over in Strawberry, see if he’d heard anything about the outlaw who’d given him a tremendous amount of grief a couple of months back, maybe he’d— 

“Hey...”

Daniel looked up, surprised, and found Arthur hesitating, half out of the door, his hand resting on the handle.

“Don’t send y’boys out to Hagen. They ain’t gonna find nothin’, just be a waste of time.”

He didn’t give Daniel a chance to respond, pulling the door closed behind him. The Sheriff watched through the window as the sombre, weary man headed back down the street, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the unimaginable. Scratching at his jaw, he sat back in his chair, turning the words over in his mind.

He should’ve stopped him, questioned him more.

When Sadie Adler was involved, there was always trouble, and with a group their size and the wounds they’d sustained... it all seemed too coincidental. How had they gotten away, even? Yet Arthur’s grief was very much real, though, and they didn’t seem like bad people. Hell, Sadie was one of the best he’d ever met, he couldn’t imagine she’d hang around with unsavoury folk; she could barely tolerate people as it was. Tapping a finger against the armrest of his chair, Daniel’s gaze shifted to one of the wanted posters on the wall opposite him.

> _‘WANTED: MICAH BELL, FOR MURDER, THEFT, ASSAULT, ARSON, PROPERTY DAMAGE, KIDNAPPING, DISTURBING THE PEACE. REWARD $200 DEAD OR ALIVE’_

The paper was worn despite it only having been up for three months, the bounty having gone up then. Many bounty hunters came and went, all of them studying the drawing of the man before boldly declaring, _oh, don’t you worry, Sheriff Dan, I’ll get him_. They either never returned, dead or embarrassed, or they came trailing in, mournful and ashamed, looking for consolation.

If her friends were even half as good as her, hell, Sadie Adler could well have finally put him down.

The door opened and Dale stepped in, pushing his hat back on his head slightly. “Sir? Found Benny, you want us to head out to Hagen?”

Daniel’s jaw moved as he glanced back at the poster.

“... Yeah. Take Carl, too, if he’s around. Take plenty of ammunition with you. And come to me before y’all go.”

“Yes, boss.”

He had half a mind to go with them, but... No. He wanted to keep an eye on the wounded group, make sure they were okay... Make sure _she_ was okay.

* * *

Arthur moved across the boards that lay before the buildings, giving an automatic, barely-there smile whenever he’d accidentally meet someone’s gaze. They’d only been there ten minutes but people were already giving sympathetic nods and smiles; word had spread around the small town.

No doubt how the Sheriff had heard of their arrival, then again they had, as he’d said, caused quite a commotion. He should have been kicking himself for his departing words, but he’d said them to genuinely tell the man not to waste his time, not as a warning. He didn’t know how Daniel would react to it, and he didn’t much care. He guessed his boys wouldn’t fancy hiking all the way up the mountain just to see if he was telling the truth.

John raised his eyebrows as he approached, still sat on the step. “That was fast. Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah. Offered me a free meal.”

John raised his eyebrows even higher as Arthur returned to his seat beside him, one leg stretched out. “You didn’t take it?”

“Not hungry. Tell me ‘bout that money.”

The younger man knew when not to press. Raising a hand, he shrugged. “It was really there, in a chest. I don’t know when they must have gone back and got it but there was a hell of a lot there. Gold bars, bills, coins, some additions, too, that they must have added like jewels and that. Got it all into saddlebags and then came after you as quickly as we could.” He gave a lopsided smile as he looked at him. “Guess you can build that stable now.”

Arthur was gazing across the street, nodding slightly. “Guess so.”

He’d wanted to be distracted and it hadn’t worked, John could see that, and they both knew nothing would. John chewed at his lower lip, trying to find the right words to say again.

“... She’s gonna be okay.”

Arthur released a long, almost faintly exasperated sigh, the sound catching in his throat slightly.

“And what if she’s not, John. Feel like my...” His teeth dragged over his lower lip as his hand lifted slightly. “Feel like my fuckin’ heart’s torn in two.” He swallowed hard, and John realised he was hesitating about something. “... Y’know when she, uh... When she gave birth to Millie, it was bad.” He was shaking his head, his jaw moving. “Thought I was gonna fuckin’ lose her. When I was bringin’ her down from the mountain that’s all I could fuckin’ think about, and... and now...” He drew in a shaking breath, meeting John’s gaze for the briefest of moments. “... She’s lost a lot of blood, John. That weren’t a short journey.”

“She’s gonna be okay—”

“You didn’t see her. She couldn’t hear me, she wasn’t there. And I can’t go in there to see how she’s doin’ ‘cause the doctor’s gotta do his work but I can’t just sit out here thinkin’ about all the pain she’s in ‘cause of _my_ fuckin’ mistake, my stupid, fuckin’ _mistake_ that shouldn’t have happened, I should have fuckin’ _known_ , and I don’t think I even can see her like that again, in all that pain again but now it’s ‘cause of _my_ doin’, I just don’t think I can, I’m a fuckin’ coward, I know it, I’ll fuckin’ say it, but I can’t, and I don’t, I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I lose her, I can’t fuckin’, I can’t live without her, John, I fuckin’ can’t.”

He wiped harshly at his cheek, a tear having escaped, before he blew out a shaking breath as he covered his eyes with his hand, his head tilted down.

John watched him, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. A few moments later, Arthur felt his hand return to his back.

“You ain’t a coward, Arthur.”

John thought it wasn’t much by way of consolation, but to Arthur it was enough. A small enough, but enough. Nodding minutely, he took in a few slow, deep breaths. John’s hand moved slightly, giving a small rub, and it was another small enough. 

Wiping at his eyes, he sniffed and lifted his head, glancing at John a moment later.

“You should get yourself somethin’ to eat. Take up that free meal for me.”

Lowering his hand, John gave a faint smile as he shook his head, lacing his fingers together, elbows on his knees. “Nah, I’m okay. I ain’t too hungry neither.”

“I am.”

Both their heads turned sharply, finding Charles stepping out onto the porch behind them. He looked weary but in one piece, his wounded shoulder rather rigid.

“Hey, Charles, y—”

“Are you okay—”

He waved off their concerns, nodding as he approached and lowered himself down to sit on the other side of Arthur with a slight groan.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Got stitched up and a dressing over it, I’ll be fine.”

“That’s good.” Arthur’s teeth grazed over his lower lip as he paused, watching Charles settle his forearm on his leg to take the strain off his shoulder. “... Is... Is Ada okay?”

Charles met his gaze and did what Arthur had feared; hesitated. 

“Uh... I didn’t get much of a look but... Yeah, he’s... He’s doing everythin’ he can.”

Arthur stared at him, trying to shove down the urge to yell, ‘ _What the hell does that mean?!_ ’ 

“How’s Sadie?”

Charles held Arthur’s gaze for moment longer, apologetically, before it shifted to John.

“I don’t know either. She’s bein’ treated in the doctor’s personal rooms ‘cause there isn’t any space, the assistant, Jocelyn, is lookin’ after her.”

John nodded quietly, the pads of his thumbs tapping together, and looked away, gazing across the street. Arthur had done the same, staring at the muddy ground at their feet, silent.

Charles looked between them.

He didn’t want to tell them, would never tell them, probably, that he had heard Sadie cursing up a storm and crying out, all the while refusing morphine, insisting she was fine, and that Ada hadn’t made a sound and hadn’t moved, eyes closed, lips parted as the doctor wiped and wiped the blood away, murmuring to himself as he tried to find the bullet.

Sniffing, he joined them in their silence, watching people go by. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

The citizens of Valentine tried to subtly look them over, some others being not so shy about it. No one came to talk to them but they lowered their voices as they went by, murmuring to one another about what might have happened, curious and speculative in a way that verged on disrespectful. The three men tried not to pay attention, thinking of nothing and everything.

Time ticked by silently.

Arthur was contemplating whether to just get that meal to have something to do, when the sound of shoes and a throat clearing came from behind them. He was the fastest to turn, followed by John, and then Charles, who was leaning against a wooden post. In fact at seeing the doctor, Wallace, approach, he shot up to his feet, lips parting as he stared at him, trying to assess his unreadable expression in the same moment he took in his hands wiping on his bloodied apron. John got to his feet, too, while Charles remained seated, all of them still silent.

Wallace pressed his lips together as he dropped his hands, fixing his gaze on Arthur. “Well, sir, I’ve done what I can for your wife. I got the bullet out but she has lost some amount of blood. If she makes it to the evening, though, and there isn’t an infection, then I’ll take that as a good sign, but we may not be out of the woods yet. I’ll keep a close eye on her as I may need to do a transfusion if she deteriorates in the next hour or so.” He looked between them all now. “Your friend, Sadie Adler, is weakened but conscious. They both need rest, gentlemen, and you all do, too. I recommend you get yourselves some rooms across the way there, I can send Jocelyn for you if anythin’ changes.” His attention returned to Arthur. “I gave your wife some morphine so she won’t have felt any pain during it, and she’ll also probably not wake for a while.”

Arthur stared at him, feeling hollow. “Can I...” He had to pause to clear his throat. “Can I see her?”

Wallace nodded, stepping aside. “Of course.”

“Thank you... Thank you, Doctor.” As Arthur passed him, he placed a grateful hand on his shoulder for the briefest of moments before he was striding across the store.

The door to the backroom was ajar and, as he pushed it open, he stilled, hand pausing on the wood.

She was like stone on the table.

Swallowing hard, he took a couple of steps closer until his finger tips touched the table as he stood by the side of it, and he gazed down at her.

She was paler than she’d been from the cold of the mountain. Eyes closed, lips parted, her hands now folded neatly on her torso, her bloodied shirt settled back in its place. His fingers twitched, hesitating, before he raised his hand and lifted her shirt a few inches. The corset had been cut away, leaving room for the clean bandaging that was now wrapped around her stomach; he could see no sign of the wound. Lowering the shirt, his gaze travelled back up to her face. Mercifully, he could see her breathing, could see, clearly, that she was asleep, though her breaths... They were so faint that he found himself staring at her chest to see if she really was.

After a minute or so, his hand went to her cheek, cupping it gently as his thumb stroked across her skin slowly.

He didn’t realise he was crying until a tear dropped from his cheek and landed on his arm. Sniffing, he pressed his lips together, his teeth gritting. His finger tips brushed against her neck lightly, pausing for a few moments to feel her pulse. There, beating gently. Sniffing again, he released a breath.

“Awh, hell... You ain’t leavin’ me, woman...” he murmured, his voice cracking roughly.

Lowering his head, tears stung at his eyes as he kissed her forehead, her temple, cheeks, lips, chin...

Resting his forehead against her own, he closed his eyes, just holding still. 

He only straightened when he heard footsteps in the other room.

“Arthur?”

Wiping at his cheeks, he swallowed but didn’t turn at John’s voice, his hand settling over Ada’s.

“Yeah.”

“Uh, Charles has got us some rooms.” He was standing in the doorway behind him, voice quiet. “I’m gonna take Sadie over. You need anythin’?”

“Nah, thanks.”

“Sure.” John was silent for a few moments. “The doc’ says he’ll be in in a second to check on her.”

“All righ’.” Looking over his shoulder, Arthur gave him a faint, grateful smile, and the younger man nodded, returning it.

John watched as Arthur turned away, his attention returning to his wife, and his own gaze dropped, too. He held such great affection for Ada, he loved her, in fact, would forever be indebted to her for all that she’d done and for making Arthur happy. They’d all only just got each other back and now here they were... 

She looked like such a shell of herself on that table.

Looking away, he crossed the small, claustrophobic room to the doctor’s private chambers, pushing the heavy metal door open. Entering, he found Sadie sat on a similar table, except all around her were the signs and ornaments of life; photographs on walls, notebooks on counters, thick lace curtains covering windows, cushions on the floor from where chairs had been hastily shoved aside. The woman herself sat with her head bowed, eyes closed, hand resting on her side over her coat where her bandaged wound was. She lifted her head at the creaking of the door, and raised her eyebrows.

“‘bout damn time. Are we gettin’ out of here?”

John shook his head as he closed the door behind him, wanting to give Arthur some privacy. “Uh, nah, not yet.”

She stilled, studying him, her throat bobbing. “... She’s okay, right?”

He nodded quickly, holding his hat between his hands. “Yeah, yeah, she’s, uh, she’s okay. Doc’ says she ain’t out of the woods just yet, but she’s okay. We just gotta wait until tonight to see.”

“Okay.” Sadie inhaled a long breath before she slid off the table with a wince.

He was instantly by her side, an arm around her waist, pulling one of hers over his shoulder.

“Where we goin’, then?” she asked quietly as he helped her towards the door.

“We got some rooms at the hotel across the way. Charles is waitin’ there. We were thinkin’ about gettin’ somethin’ to eat, too, at the saloon.”

It was disconcerting, talking about such basic needs to take care of while they were waiting to find out if their friend was going to live or die.

They paused to allow him to open the door and, passing through, they paused again, John finding Arthur hadn’t moved, Sadie finding her friend lying motionless on the same table. Arthur turned again, giving Sadie the same small smile he’d given John as he met her gaze.

“Hey, Sadie, glad to see you’re okay.”

This was the moment, out of all the wonderful and terrible moments in the past week, that made Sadie want to just sit down and weep. She knew what Arthur was going through, what else he might have to endure, and it broke her heart.

Managing an easy smile, she blinked to clear her vision, relieved her voice held. “Thanks. Feel like shit.”

He gave an almost automatic, exhaled laugh, nodding. “Hm. Get some rest, won’t you.”

“Yeah. You try to, too.”

“Yeah.”

They both knew he wouldn’t. It was Sadie who moved first out of her and John, wanting to be out of that room before her chest caved in.

John didn’t say a word, and she was most grateful for it. She was grateful for the sounds of Valentine, too, as they crossed the store, for the signs of a world carrying on, regardless, regardless. Stepping out onto the boards and into the crisp, fresh air, she inhaled it deep into her lungs, forgetting for a moment she was wounded. Her stomach expanding with the breath pulled at the stitches, and her exhale was slightly hissed. John knew better than to make a comment. They moved down the steps into the mud, and her gaze travelled the street as she let John guide her towards the hotel though she could have done the journey with her eyes closed.

People were watching, staring, really, but as always she didn’t care. They always did when she came into town, whispering to each other all kinds of things. Sadie Adler, the female bounty hunter, who only came into town when trouble was around, and was more often than not covered in blood, her own and someone else’s. 

A frequent watcher met her gaze.

Sheriff Daniel was stood outside his office, hands on his hips, back straight, listening to what Doctor Wallace was telling him. He held her gaze for longer than necessary, though she was doing the exact same. He only looked away when Wallace seemed to bring their conversation to an end, smiling, ever the polite lawman.

Moving up the steps to the hotel, Charles waited for them inside, keys held in his hands. They just followed him up the stairs silently, hearts heavy.

* * *

John had pulled the door closed behind them as they’d left, and the room was now quiet.

He didn’t move and the room stayed quiet until the door opened again a few minutes later, though Arthur wasn’t aware of time. 

“Sir.”

Arthur blinked and turned quickly at the doctor’s voice, his hand staying on Ada’s.

“Doc’, hey.”

Wallace, still wearing the horrible, bloodied apron, came around to the other side of the table. Arthur watched him intently as he lifted her shirt and inspected the wound dressing, his fingers lightly pressing over it. He then lifted one of her hands, checking her pulse at her wrist, before carefully setting it and the shirt back in place. The back of his hand then went to her forehead, resting against it. As his hand came away, Arthur cleared his throat.

“How is she?”

“Fine.” Wallace rested his hands on the table, only to raise one after a moment to gesture at her torso. “She hasn’t bled through the stitches or dressing. No sign of a fever yet, either. It’s going to take some time for her to get her full strength back, though, if she makes it through the night.”

Arthur looked to him sharply, his jaw tensing.

Wallace pressed his lips together. “I’m a doctor, sir, I would be doing you a disservice if I wasn’t honest.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raised a fraction as he exhaled a breath. “I don’t know whether to thank you or hit you.”

The doctor surprised him with a light, brief smile. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that, sir.” Straightening, he wiped his hands on a clean section of his apron. “I assume you want to stay, and I won’t make you leave this time. I’ll check up on her every hour, though of course notify me if you believe anything is wrong.”

“Sure...” Arthur nodded, exhaling another breath as his shoulders dropped. “Thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Arthur, please.”

“All right, Arthur.” Moving away from the table, Wallace finally untied his apron. “I’ll bring you a chair. Do you want something to eat?”

“No, thank you.”

Arthur was already holding her hand again, his thumb brushing back and forth over her knuckles. When Wallace brought him a chair, he gave his thanks once more and pulled it close to the table, sitting down and removing his hat, dropping it on the floor. 

He held her hand as his gaze went from her features to her torso and to the window opposite him over the next few hours. The small window gave no view to occupy him, just displayed the side of the next building. The lace of the curtain that covered it was thick enough that he wouldn’t have been able to see much anyway, just making out the shapes of people who occasionally passed and the colours of their coats. Charles came by to give him the key to a room for him, just in case. He didn’t stay long, just gazed down at Ada and patted Arthur comfortingly on the back.

Wallace came three times, every hour as promised, and the only change was that she was warmer, though he couldn’t confirm if it was a fever yet. However, as there was no fire in the room and all Arthur had found to put over her was her coat, he told him it was most likely one would occur, and while it was common, it would depend on how strong her body was for her to fight it.

When he left, Arthur turned his words over in his mind, his free hand rubbing across his brow. There were medicines and herbs of course, Wallace had reassured him on that which he already knew, but... This wasn’t the kind of sickness she usually caught in the winter, come from nowhere to attack her healthy, strong body. She was weak, and this could be the final straw.

He wiped at his eyes, feeling so utterly useless and helpless. He’d tried so hard not to think about her but... Millie was at home, waiting for them. Waiting for her Ma and Pa to come home and be there always, the illusion and safety of innocence not yet shattered. He held both of his wife’s hands tightly, his elbows on the table, eyes shining.

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere...” he murmured, not realising he was talking out loud. “... You ain’t leavin’ me... You ain’t goin...”

He closed his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing because he could feel the panic coming again. Deep breath in, deep breath out, deep breath in, deep breath out...

A sound startled him, making his eyes snap open and his head shoot up. The first thing his gaze landed on was the window and he found it was suddenly dark outside—

_Ah, shit..._

He’d fallen asleep. It must have been someone outside passing by who had roused him—

“Arthur?”

His eyes darted to her at the quiet voice, and met her gaze. His breath catching in his throat, his hands found hers again and gripped them as he leaned forward.

“Oh, I’m here, sweetheart, I’m here...”

Ada gazed at him, eyes not quite fully open, shaking faintly and sweating, still pale, but her thumb brushed against his skin slightly. 

“Is everyone okay?”

He could have wept.

Nodding, one hand moved to stroke her forehead and hair as he managed a smile, his heart aching. “Yeah, they’re all fine, darlin’, everyone’s okay.”

“Good.” She was obviously too exhausted to say more than a few words at a time. 

Wetting his dry lips, he continued to gently stroke her hair. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Feel a little strange.”

“That might be the morphine wearin’ off. Do you feel warm?”

She shook her head slightly. “Cold.”

_Shit._

Her forehead was warm, very warm. He managed another smile as he stroked her cheek.

“All righ’, I’ll just go and get the Doc’, tell ‘im—”

“Don’t go.”

The flash of panic in her eyes sent a knife through his heart. He instantly tightened his grip on her hands and resumed stroking her hair, nodding a few times.

“Okay, sweetheart, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

He watched her swallow thickly, tears now suddenly filling her eyes. Lifting one of her hands, he pressed a kiss to the back of it, a tear of his own sliding down his nose as he blinked. Meeting her gaze again, he managed another, faint smile, hoping to God his voice wouldn’t crack.

“I love you, Ada.”

It seemed to be both the best and the worst thing to say in that moment as her features crumbled slightly and she released a shaking breath.

“I love you, too.”

Sniffing, he clenched his jaw, trying to keep anymore tears at bay. “I thought... I thought I was gunna lose you, darlin’, I thought you were gonna...”

He couldn’t finish.

She nodded, fingers curling around his. “I thought I did, I...” A quiet sound escaped her, almost a sob. “... want to go home, I want to see Millie...”

He didn’t think his heart could have broken anymore. “I know, my love, I do, too. You gotta rest a little more, though.”

Ada was shaking her head before he’d even finished. “I don’t want to be here, I want to go _home_.”

“I know, I know...” He stroked her forehead, feeling it burn beneath his hand. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tilted his head, somehow summoning up a light smile. “Get some more rest, all righ’, I’ll talk with the Doc’, figure somethin’ out, okay?”

She just nodded, too tired to say anymore or argue. He watched her close her eyes, a short flash of panic racing through him with a prayer that she would open them again. Pressing another kiss to her hand, he then rose, his chair quietly scraping back against the wood. Wiping at his eyes, he finally released her hands and turned away, moving to the wooden door. 

He’d assumed the doctor would be behind the counter and he was right, the man reading a newspaper by candlelight. He set it down when Arthur entered, leaning back in his chair.

“Hello, Arthur. Everything all right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Arthur closed the door behind him and took a few more steps into the room, nearing him as he ran a hand through his hair. “She’s woken up.”

Wallace nodded as a smile pulled at his lips. “Has she? That’s wonderful. I’ll come in and—”

“Uh, actually, before you do...” Arthur interrupted him quietly, taking another step closer. “... I was just... Can I... Is it okay if I take her across to the hotel? It ain’t exactly comfortable on that table and she doesn’t want to be in there.”

The doctor pressed his lips together. “... The move might pain her, but... Yes, I can see the advantages of it as she does need comfortable rest. I don’t have anything that could be used to transport her over so you would have to carry her, which, as I said, might pain her. I don’t want the stitches to tear, either... You would have to be _very_ careful.”

Arthur nodded quickly. “I would be.”

He regarded him for a moment, before nodding. “I’ll allow it.”

Arthur guessed he probably looked at relieved as he felt. “Thank you, Doc’.” He was about to turn away when he decided to take a chance. Licking his lips, he raised his hands slightly. “She wants to go home but I imagine you ain’t gonna allow that.”

Wallace tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. “No, I’m not. Not for a few days, at the very least.”

“Yeah, I thought as much.”

He hoped that this compromise would be enough for Ada, for now. He really didn’t want her getting upset or melancholy, not right now when she so needed rest.

She did open her eyes when he returned and even smiled faintly when he told her what was going to happen which cheered him more than he had thought. Yet he could see she wasn’t quite there, wasn’t quite herself... and there was still the actual moving part to happen. Wallace instructed him on how to carry her, that if any bleeding came through the bandaging he was to come for him immediately, and handed him a tonic to give her half of before he carried her, and another bottle of milky liquid for the potential fever. Arthur listened intently and assured him once again that he would be careful. Wallace didn’t doubt him.

Arthur helped Ada to drink a little of both of the tonics, and she winced at their bitter taste as he settled her coat more tightly around her. Then, it was time.

As carefully as he possibly could, he slid his arms under her and lifted her. Just like he’d been told to, he held her so her right side was against him, meaning her wound wouldn’t be disturbed. Still, it wasn’t comfortable. As he carried her through the store and out into the street, he glanced down at her every few moments and caught her pained winces, being too weak to hide them. Her eyes were closed, too, and he wished he could move faster.

Approaching the hotel, he encountered Sheriff Daniel exiting, placing his hat on his head. The lawman smiled warmly before his gaze dropped to Ada, and it faded.

“Can I offer my assistance, Arthur?”

“It’s okay, Sheriff, thank you.”

He thanked him once again as he held the door open for him, before nodding at the owner who’d obviously been told what had happened and just nodded back with a sense of familiarity and sympathy. Carrying her up the stairs was the hardest part. He felt her hand on the back of his coat, gripping it as tight as she could in her condition, and his stomach twisted. Small, strained sounds would escape her and he’d murmur apologies and soothing words.

Finally reaching the top, he moved down the narrow corridor to their room. It was unlocked, as Charles had said, and it only took a couple of moments for him to shift his hand and turn the door knob to push it open. It was a small room, but certainly bigger than the one she’d just been in. There were two windows, one opposite a warm fire and the other by the neatly made bed. There was a mirror in another corner, two chest of drawers against a wall, and a thin rug on the floor. He took her straight to the bed, laying her down as gently as he could but she still hissed in a breath. 

Once she was down, though, he pulled his arms out from under her carefully and lifted the coat from her. Draping it over the railing at the foot of the bed, he then lifted her shirt and, mercifully, found no blood had seeped through her bandages. Covering it again, he smiled as he met her gaze and pulled a blanket up over her.

“There, that okay?”

She nodded, and the move had obviously taken what little energy she’d had left out of her. “Yeah. Better.”

“Good.”

Stroking her cheek, he then moved to the door, closed and locked it, before setting the key on the closest chest of drawers. Pulling his boots off, he let them drop to the floor, leaving them where they lay. After inspecting the fire and adding a few more logs, he pulled the curtains closed and returned to her, unbuttoning his coat. She’d watched him the whole time, though he could tell it was some effort to keep her eyes open.

“Yeah, there we go...” he murmured as he left his coat and gun belt on the floor and carefully moved over her, settling by her side. “... Got a warm fire, soft bed, warm and soft husband...”

She smiled faintly, her hands settling on the arm he lay across her hips. It faded nearly instantly though as her head turned to him.

“I want to go home tomorrow, Arthur.”

He made his own light smile linger, his thumb rubbing over her hip, feeling the edge of the bandaging. “I know, darlin’. Let’s get some rest, though, huh, and we’ll talk about it in the mornin’.”

Again, she was too tired to argue. When her eyes closed, he pressed a kiss to her burning temple, feeling the sweat that covered her skin, and kept his gaze on her, swallowing.

_Make it through, make it through, make it through..._

* * *

He was dragged from his sleep by the sounds of retching and nails digging into his arm. 

His eyes snapping open, he found her bent over the side of the bed, throwing up the little that was in her stomach into the chamber pot.

“Shit, darlin’...”

One arm quickly went around her to stop her from falling off the bed as the other held her hair back as best as he could. She only retched a few more times, her stomach empty. Releasing her hair, he stroked her back as she took in deep breaths, his heart aching.

A reaction to the medicine or the fever, possibly, hopefully, or maybe... 

Raising his hand to her forehead, he cupped it and found it wasn’t burning.

_Shit._

Rubbing her back again, he gave her all the time she needed.

“It’s okay, sweetheart... It’s all right...”

When she eventually lay back down, she was pale, drawn, shaking and sweating, but lucid. She responded when he asked if she was okay, nodding and humming out a sound. His other hand went to her shirt, lifting it.

He saw what he’d feared; spots of blood on the bandage.

Dropping the shirt, he smoothed her damp hair away from her face, watching her fix her gaze on the wall as she breathed deeply.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna go and get the doctor, all righ’, he needs to take a look at you.”

She didn’t protest, didn’t even really react, and he swiftly pulled his boots on, unlocking and darting out of the door, his heart pounding. 

It was well past midnight but revellers were still at the saloon, some drunkenly calling out to him as he ran, laughing. He ran down an alley way between two buildings, heading for the back door of the Doctor’s building. Slamming his fist several times against the metal door, breathing hard, he stared at it, murmuring under his breath, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon...”

Wallace was, thankfully, a light sleeper, opening the door less than a minute after Arthur knocked on it. He only needed to see Arthur’s expression. Grabbing his bag, they hurried over to the hotel and Arthur stood by the door as Wallace attended to her, feeling her forehead, pulse, unwrapping the bandages and cleaning up some of the blood that had come from a couple of torn stitches.

She panted lightly, staring up at the ceiling as her hair stuck to her skin.

He agreed with Arthur, that perhaps it must have been from the medicine she’d been give as, although she _was_ warm, no extreme fever seemed to have a hold of her. Ada just lay with her eyes closed, breathing in and out. Once Wallace was satisfied, Arthur shook his hand, thanked him once again, and went to close the door after the doctor had declined his offer to walk him out.

Wallace stopped him, turning at the last moment and saying quietly, “It’s going to be a difficult night, Arthur, for both of you. This may be a reaction to the tonic, yes, but it could also be from the situation. Being attacked and shot can take quite the toll on the mind. It could be catching up to what has happened and she could be in shock.”

Arthur nodded, running a hand through his hair as he took in a breath, looking and feeling twenty years older. “Yeah, I... That’s what I'd feared.”

The man studied his features. “You’ve seen her like this before?”

He just nodded again, not wanting to divulge the far too many times he had.

“Then you know what to do, Arthur.”

Arthur watched him head down the corridor, gripping the door handle.

Yes. Yes, he did.

They were the words he needed to hear, the reassurance he needed. Closing and locking the door, he turned to her.

She was sucking in breaths that weren’t quite long enough, her hands gripped together on her stomach, knuckles white, eye shining.

He knew it wasn’t a fever, not all of it, maybe not any of it. She was trapped in her mind, resuming what had started on Mount Hagen with her murmured, “ _It’s over._..”

He approached the bed, his heart aching unbearably, but yes, he knew what to do. Gently lifting her leg, he removed her boot, then pulled off the other, settling them side by side on the floor by the foot of the bed. Moving over her carefully, he settled at her side on his back, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her a little closer until her head was on his shoulder. Again, she didn’t protest, didn’t react. He stroked her arm lightly, his other hand resting over her clenched ones, caressing her knuckles while his cheek settled against the top of her head.

She was rigid against him, but he just held and stroked her, gazing at the same wall she was. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and her harsh breaths. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he didn’t think about time, didn’t think about much at all really, just focussed on her and every breath she took as he waited.

And then, finally, finally, finally, not long after a clock in the room chimed the early hour, the fear and the grief and the shock was released from her with a shuddering sob.

He held her tighter as she cried and cried, a hand coming up to cover her face as she turned her head closer to him. He didn’t say anything, letting her release it all. A few tears of his own slipped down his cheek but he felt a weight lift off of his chest; it had sometimes taken days for the melancholy to break, even weeks, and while he wished he could give her all that time, it just couldn’t be done now.

He also knew that it wouldn’t leave her completely, probably wouldn’t until they were home and maybe not even then, but he was relieved, for now.

Tightening his arms around her, he closed his eyes, his hand coming up to cup her neck, his thumb stroking against her jaw.

“You’re okay, sweetheart... You’re okay...” he murmured as her body shook against his from her sobs, his shirt wet. “... It’s over, we’re safe...”

And, he realised himself with an ache in his chest, that they finally were.

* * *

He felt fingers running through his hair, gently untangling locks of it. It was so soothing.

_Good, a nice dream._

He hummed quietly, tilting his head closer to the touch. Gentle laughter came and it made him smile; it sounded just like her.

“Good morning...” the voice he loved most in the world murmured and he smiled.

“Mornin’...”

Lips brushed against his chin and, damn, it felt real.

_Wait a second..._

His sleep-addled brain was slow to catch up, and he almost didn’t believe what it was telling him. He almost didn’t want to find out, but...

Opening his eyes, he found the love of his life gazing at him, her finger tips brushing against his jaw, dark circles under her tired eyes but she was...

“Sweetheart?”

Ada’s smile widened.

“Hello, my love.”

“Oh, Ada...”

Euphoria overwhelmed him as he cupped her cheek and captured her lips in a fierce kiss. She was still smiling as she returned it, her finger tips resting against his neck. He kissed her over and over again until she was laughing softly. He swiftly drew his head back, however, when the events of the night came crashing back to him.

“How do you feel? Are you okay?” His hand went to her forehead so quickly he nearly smacked her in the head and she just couldn’t stop smiling.

“Well, I feel like I’ve been kicked by a horse and thrown down a ravine, but fine.”

"You sure?”

He believed her, his thumb stroking across her cheekbone, but she looked completely exhausted, and he was asking after more than her physical state.

She nodded, her other hand resting on her torso. “Yeah, just fine.”

“Christ, woman...” He kissed her again, and poured every ounce of love he had for her into it. She understood and returned every bit of it, not pulling back until he did.

Caressing her cheek, he gazed at her, shaking his head. “I love you, Ada.”

“I love you,” she murmured, tilting her head as her fingers traced down his jaw. 

Real. Real and alive.

His eyes travelled her features, the lines at the corners of her eyes he loved so much, the slope of her nose, the shape of her lips...

She watched him watch her, a light shine to her eyes. She knew the kind of relief he was feeling.

A trader shouting outside, heralding potential customers, pulled him out of his daze, his eyebrows raising as he blinked.

“Shit, I’m sorry, you want anythin’? Somethin’ to eat, drink?”

“I’m a little thirsty.”

“Shit, sorry...”

She laughed softly, awkwardly, the movement probably paining her a little as her stomach moved, while he moved over her, pausing to press a firm kiss to her lips before he continued on, setting his boots on the floor.

"Okay...” Grabbing his coat and gunbelt from the floor, he pulled them on as his gaze returned to her. “... I’m gonna see where the others are, see how they’re doin’, and then I’m gonna get us some food and water, all righ’?”

She nodded, her smile lingering.

“And then we can go home?”

He managed to stop himself from pausing as he adjusted the collar of his coat. One corner of his mouth lifting a little higher than the other, he started to button it.

“We’ll talk once we’ve got food in our stomachs, all right? I can’t think straight on an empty stomach, you know that. I won’t be long.”

She smiled tenderly as he approached. “Bye.”

He placed a hand on the mattress and leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

“Have I told you I love you?” he murmured against them, and her fingers brushed against his cheek.

“Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Arthur Morgan.”

When he kissed her again her hands cupped his face and it took a Herculean effort for him to break it.

“All righ’, all righ’...” he sighed begrudgingly, pulling his head back and gazing down at her.

Shaking his head at her faintly mischievous smile, God, he loved her so much, his fingers stroked her hip.

He paused at feeling the bandage. His gaze dropping, he lifted her shirt, and found the bandage a pristine white, no blood to be seen anywhere.

_Thank_ **_God_ ** _._

He just couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and kissing her again. She hummed softly against his lips and, oh, Christ, he had to pull away.

“I won’t be long,” he repeated as he strode for the door, hearing her chuckle at his speed.

He smiled at her as he unlocked and opened it, his heart warming as she returned it. 

“Bye, sweetheart.”

“Goodbye, my love.”

Closing the door behind himself, he paused, shook his head in disbelief and relief, and then headed down the corridor with the smile still on his lips. A door near the stairs opened and John’s head peered out, eyes tired but wide.

“Hey, is she okay? I heard you’d brought her over, and I thought I heard somethin’ goin’ on last night.”

Arthur nodded as he paused, shrugging. “Yeah...” He _still_ couldn’t quite believe what he was about to say. “... Yeah, she’s, she’s awake and fine, talkin’. A little weak, I think, but fine.”

A wide smile broke across John’s features as he clapped him on the back. “Jesus Christ, that’s great!”

Arthur chuckled as he ran his hand through his hair. “I know, I know...” His smile faded, however, as he recalled her earlier words. Lowering his voice, he continued, “... But, uh... She wants to go home but I don’t think the doc’ will allow it. I said we’d talk about it after eatin’. She’s desperate to but I don’t see how I can persuade him.”

John exhaled a breath as he kept his voice low, too. “Yeah, Sadie’ll probably want to move on, too, but I don’t think he’s gonna let either of ‘em go, and I kinda agree with him.”

Arthur nodded, half of him, which the other half called traitorous, agreeing as well. “I know, I know... Anyway, you want anythin’ from the store?”

“Nah, I’m okay, thanks. Charles and I bought some stuff last night.”

“All righ’. Well, get Charles and Sadie, if she’s okay, and go to our room, it’s unlocked. We’ll all talk.”

“Okay. And, hey...” He stopped the older man before he continued on, a smile pulling at his lips. “... She’s okay.”

Arthur smiled, nodding a few times. “She’s okay.”

Valentine was it’s usual quietly bustling self, the day not yet reaching noon. He moved down the steps at the front of the hotel onto the street, elation, relief and euphoria still swirling around in his chest. He didn’t care that people were still staring and whispering, most, even though they didn’t know them, smiling to themselves at his obvious change in demeanour and what was the cause of it.

The woman was okay.

The general store owner even asked him outright how they were all doing, and he indulged him in saying they were all fine, though nothing more. He was suddenly reminded once again why he and Ada didn’t live near a town or city, and how grateful he was that Nathaniel and Martha didn’t intrude upon their land unless they were invited.

Nodding his thanks at the owner, he gathered the tins and packets of fruit into his arms and headed out into the cold light of the sun. Their horses were nowhere to be seen, but they wouldn’t be far, grazing probably or resting under a tree. He could hear metal striking metal again, and the butcher by the hotel calling out today’s prices for—

He paused on the porch, inches from the steps.

Charles and Dr. Wallace were hurrying up the stairs to the hotel, Charles talking quickly to him as he took the lead, looking back over his shoulder every couple of seconds. Unease was written across every inch of both their features.

Arthur's stomach dropped.

The cans tumbled out of his arms, colliding with wood and rolling down the steps into the mud, and he was down the stairs and about to sprint across the street when a horse suddenly whinnied loudly to his right. His head whipping to the side, he had to quickly stumble backwards as a rider trotted by, tutting at him.

“Watch where you’re goin’, pal!”

Ignoring him, Arthur ran, nearly slipping in the mud. Two men sat on the hotel porch stared at him as he approached, their conversation trailing off as he ran past them. He startled the hotel owner, too, when he stormed in, leaving the door open.

“Uh, sir—”

He ignored him, sprinting up the stairs, taking two, three at a time.

He could hear raised voices coming from their room, only able to distinguish them when he reached the top step.

“No!” Sadie was shouting over whoever was trying to calm her down, their voice low and soothing. “ _No!_ Don’t you touch me!”

She sounded truly angry, and his heart twisted.

_No, no, no, no, no, no..._

The door was open and he stepped in and—

He froze, hands gripping the frame and door handle to physically stop himself.

Everyone in the room paused, staring at him. Charles, Dr. Wallace, John, Sadie, Sheriff Daniel and... Ada.

She was sat up, leaning back against the headboard, her brow dipping.

“Arthur?”

“Uh, hey...” His gaze went from her to Sadie who, sat on the edge of the bed, was trying to slap the growing increasingly frustrated Wallace’s hands away from her torso, to the Sheriff who was leaning against the wall by the window close to them, arms folded across his chest.

“Hey, Arthur,” he greeted with a light smile.

Arthur cleared his throat as his hands dropped, trying to recover as swiftly as he could. “Sheriff Daniel. What a surprise.”

He resisted the urge to glance at the rest of them because _what the hell was going on_.

Daniel inclined his head. “My apologies for droppin’ by without invitation but I wanted to see how Mrs Adler and your wife were doin’. I’m relieved to see they’re both okay.”

“Yeah, they’re gettin’ there, it seems.” Arthur looked to Wallace, quickly nodding at him in greeting. “Doc’.”

The doctor was unhappy, his lips pressed together. “Arthur. You should have come for me this morning, their wounds need cleaning and redressing. _Both_ of them.”

Sadie snorted. “Yeah, whatever, I’m fine.”

Wallace fixed his gaze on her, his eyebrows high. “Do you want an infection, Mrs Adler? Do you want to die?”

“Oh, this ain’t gonna kill me, you’ve patched up worse, Wallace.”

Arthur had thought Doctor Wallace quite the unflappable man, but it seemed Sadie Adler was his limit.

He was quietly verging on apoplectic as he stepped towards her once more. “Mrs Adler, just let me help you, please—”

Sadie stood, veering out of his reach, and placed her hands on her hips as she moved to stand by the bedside table. “Dan, you said you had somethin’ to tell us when Arthur got here?”

They all fell silent, except Wallace who was muttering under his breath.

Arthur did glance away this time, looking to the nearest person, Charles, who was stood by the chest of drawers behind Daniel. Charles just raised his eyebrows slightly, as surprised as he was.

His gaze returned to the Sheriff as Daniel nodded, his arms dropping, one hand going into his pocket.

“That I did. I just wanted to let y’all know that my boys went out to Hagen.” 

_Shit._

Sheriff Daniel looked around the room at them all now, giving Arthur the opportunity to glance at Charles again and John, now, who was to his left. They were incredibly still, though he’d bet their hearts had started beating just as fast as his was.

_Shit... Fuck..._

Daniel's expression was giving no indication of his thoughts as he continued. “They found some bodies up there, at a campsite. Seems like there was a mighty fight.”

His eyes landed on Arthur as he finished.

Arthur raised his eyebrows in faint surprise. “Does it? Well, Micah Bell seemed like the kind of feller with a lot of enemies.”

“Yeah.” Daniel held his gaze. “My boys gathered the bodies and burned ‘em, so, guess no one’s gonna get that reward.”

“Shame,” Sadie said, shaking her head as she folded her arms across her chest, the picture of disappointment.

“Yeah,” Daniel looked at her with an easy smile that was so familiar to his face. “Well, just thought y’all would be interested to know.” Tipping his hat, he met each of their eyes in turn. “Good day to you all, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Yeah, thanks, good day, Sheriff,” Arthur said as stepped aside to allow him to pass, managing to not look as incredibly relieved as he felt.

Silence lingered in the room as they all listened to the sound of Sheriff Daniel’s boots disappearing down the hall and stairs, then his faint, cheerful farewell to the hotel owner, before the front door was closed.

Wallace, who had been rifling through his bag and muttering to himself still, hadn’t noticed the other occupants of the room glancing at one another with eyebrows raised high and mouths slightly open.

_Well, I’ll be damned..._ Arthur thought, scratching at his forehead before his fingers ran through his hair.

‘Lucky’ didn’t quite seem to cover it.

Their expressions quickly neutralised as Wallace sighed and moved to Charles, shoving bandages, cloths and a small bottle of clear liquid into his hands.

“Here. You seem like the most sensible person in this room, Mr Smith, so I will entrust you with these. Make sure their wounds are cleaned and freshly dressed and that they eat and drink something.”

Lifting his bag, he turned a stern eye on the two women. “ _Please_ rest, both of you. I shall return later in the day.”

“Yep, will do, can’t wait,” Sadie answered jovially as Wallace strode across the room to the door.

Arthur murmured his thanks to him and earned a small nod before the doctor exited. Closing the door behind him, Arthur leaned back against it and folded his arms across his chest as he blew out a breath.

They all seemed to release a breath of their own, Sadie’s arms dropping, John resting an elbow on the chest of drawers beside him, Charles placing the bandages, cloths and bottle on the end of the bed, Ada’s shoulders slumping.

He gazed at her, allowing his heart to resume its normal pattern. Fucking Christ, he’d thought he’d lost her again. He was about to move closer when John chuckled. 

“Wow, guess your boyfriend ain’t so bad after all, Sadie.”

Sadie tutted, narrowing her eyes at him. “He ain’t my boyfriend, John Marston.”

“Sure, sure...”

Arthur joined John in his laughter, and it felt damn good to do so. Ada was also smiling, glancing up at Sadie and earning a narrowed stare herself, though her own lips were twitching.

Arthur’s gaze lingered on Ada’s smile, and then she was looking at him and it was widening.

“So, when can we leave?”

The words, so few, knocked the wind out of him, his smile fading. The others fell silent, too, John probably having told them what Wallace had said, or just guessing.

Clearing his throat quietly, he answered gently, “Ada, the doc’ says we can’t for a little while.”

She’d sensed the shift in the air. Glancing briefly to Sadie, Ada was still, her hands in her lap.

“How long?”

He paused for a moment. “Few days, at least.”

“ _A few days?_ ” Her stricken expression made his chest ache. “Arthur, we said to Thom and Charlotte we’d be gone for _two_ , they’ll start to worry—”

“I know, but the doc’ ain’t gonna allow it, you were barely on your feet yesterday and—”

“I’m _fine_ now. Yes, it’ll need cleaning and changing but we can do that at home!”

“Darlin’—”

“What about _Millie?_ ”

Arthur looked at her as their daughter’s name hung in the air, and she stared back. The others were silent, either staring at the floor or their hands. 

He knew that bringing Millie up wasn’t an unfair insinuation that he’d hadn’t thought of her, that she was actually just angry and tired and anxious. Arthur unfolded his arms, his hands raising slightly before they dropped to his sides.

“Ada, I... I wanna see her, too. I know you know that. But it ain’t gonna help matters by rushin’ back when you ain’t well enough—”

“But I _am_ —”

“I can ride out there.”

Their eyes darted to Charles. The man nodded as he looked between them, shrugging slightly.

“I’ll go, let them know.”

“You would do that?” Arthur asked quietly after a moment of silence, feeling like another weight was being lifted from him.

Charles smiled. “Of course.”

Arthur looked to Ada who licked her lips, her eyes shining as her voice caught in her throat slightly. “Millie can’t know what’s happened, none of them can. Thom would...” She paused for a couple of moments before shaking her head. “... I don’t want them to worry, and we should be the ones to tell them. Just say that...” She glanced at Arthur who nodded. “... Just say we’ve decided to stay at John and Abigail’s for another day or so, that you left early as you have to be somewhere. I’ll write something so they know we sent you. They know you by name but... just in case.”

Their friend nodded, looking between the two desperate, grateful parents again. “Okay, I’ll just get my things.”

“Thank you, Charles,” Ada murmured and he smiled at her again as he crossed the room.

Arthur placed his hand on his arm as he went to pass him, making him pause, and murmured his own, “Thank you, I can’t tell you what this...”

He trailed off, unable to express the enormity of his gratitude with words alone.

Charles understood, and patted his shoulder before he headed out of the room.

Running a hand down his mouth, Arthur’s hands then settled on his belt as his attention returned to Ada. She was already looking at him, eyes still shining, lips slightly pressed together as she tried to hold back her tears.

“Arthur, where’s the food?”

He blinked at Sadie’s voice, taking a second to figure out what she was talking about.

_Oh... Shit._

“Oh, uh, I’ll get it. I was about to get it and then I saw the Doc’ and Charles headin’ over here and, uh...” He glanced at Ada, catching her lips pressing together a little more firmly as she realised what he must have thought. “... I’ll get it now, I won’t be long.”

“Can you get me some paper and a pen from the front desk, too?” Ada’s voice managed not to crack or catch, and he nodded, giving her a tender smile.

“Sure.”

He brought them to her, after retrieving the cans from the mud and quickly wiping them clean, and she wrote a jovial a message as she could as Sadie sat beside her and ate, as did John, leaning by the window. She wrote about what great fun they were having but they missed them and would be home soon. Folding it over once she’d finished, she held the note out to Arthur with a faint smile.

“Well, this’ll have to do.”

He crossed the room from where he’d been leaning against a chest of drawers, watching her, and took it. She was about to drop her hand when he caught it and raised it, lowering his head at the same time. Pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand, he straightened and held it for a few moments longer as he spoke.

“We’ll be home soon, sweetheart.”

All she could do was nod.

He found Charles by a group of trees by the church, his horse grazing on the lush, green grass.

The man mounted as he approached and gathered the reins, turning his horse towards him.

“I’ll be back tonight,” he said, tucking the note into a pocket inside his coat. “Anything you want me to bring for you?”

Arthur shook his head, hands sliding into his pockets. “Nah, it’s fine. Just... see how my little girl’s doin’. And thank you. Again.”

Charles took the hand he offered, shaking it firmly with a sincere nod. “Anytime, Arthur. Anytime.”

Arthur watched him ride away down the muddy path towards the train station. From there he’d head east and it’d just be straight roads to Newfields Rest. It’d take three, four hours at most... So close and yet so far from their daughter.

Turning away, Arthur’s hand returned to his pocket as he exhaled a breath.

_Nah, don’t think about any of that now..._

When he returned to the room, Ada was alone. She smiled instantly at the sight of him, her features softening, blankets pulled up to her stomach as she leaned back against the pillows.

“Hey,” he murmured as he closed the door behind himself. “Where’d everybody go?”

She played with the frayed end of a blanket as she watched him shrug his coat off. “John went to have a bath, Sadie’s decided to take a nap.”

He rolled his sleeves up as he glanced at the fire. Someone had built it higher, making the room rather warm. “She get that wound cleaned?”

Ada’s lips twitched up a little higher. “In the end. It took some manipulating on my part.”

He arched an eyebrow, unsuccessfully trying to stop a smile as he moved closer. “That so?”

“I’m not proud of it, but yes. I said something along the lines of how I want her to live to meet my daughter.”

Arthur exhaled a laugh as she shifted her legs over slightly so he could sit on the edge of the bed. “That was a dirty move, Mrs Morgan.”

She pulled a slight face, the smile still lingering faintly on her lips. “Yes, it was. But it wasn’t exactly untrue.”

He nodded a few times, his hand settling over hers. She turned it over, their palms resting against each other, and gripped his hand a little tighter.

“Has Charles gone?” she murmured, and he nodded again, his thumb brushing against hers.

“Yeah. Said he’d be back by tonight.”

She didn’t say anything, gazing down at their hands. Neither of them wanted to talk about what they were feeling. His gaze drifted to the small bottle and cloth beside her, bandages neatly coiled beside it.

Gently pulling his hand away, he reached for the cloth and bottle. “C’mon, let’s get your own wound cleaned, huh?”

She dutifully pulled her shirt up above the bandages and sat up to give him room to unwind them. He’d shifted forward a little more to do so, and her head gently leaned against his, her eyes closing. Listening to her breathe softly, he unwound and unwound, finally pulling it away and dropping it to the floor. She lifted her head and lay back again with a wince, her hands keeping her shirt up.

Pouring some of the liquid onto a cloth, he began to dab at the wound. She hissed in a sharp breath through her teeth, her nose scrunching up, and he glanced up at her, watching her press her lips together as she exhaled a breath.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his other hand settling on her thigh.

“It’s fine. Just stings a little.” She gave him a soft smile. “How does it look?”

“Good. I mean, I ain’t a doctor but it looks good.”

It had startled him, the night before, how strange the wound was, not as circular as he’d imagined, but ragged and uneven, which was probably due to how Wallace had had to dig the bullet out. He’d stitched it very well, though, so neatly, and even though the bruising around it made it look worse, Arthur trusted that Wallace had done a fine job.

Gently sweeping the cloth over the stitching, after a few moments he felt her hand settle over his other.

“Arthur, we have to get back before those letters are delivered.”

He met her gaze, moving the cloth away, his forearm resting on his thigh. “I know, but—”

“Please, Arthur, it’s not far.” Her fingers squeezed around his. “I want to recover at home.”

He nodded a few times, his gaze dropping as he took in a long breath. He could have just repeated what Wallace had told him, told her no, that she had to stay put and rest, that that would be for the best, but... He couldn’t have ever done that, not knowing her and loving her as he did.

Tilting his head slightly, he looked up at her, his voice quiet. “’spose we could... get a wagon, I could put some blankets in it, you could lie down, might make it easier.”

Hope brightened her eyes as her lips lifted, squeezing his hand again. “That’ll work, that’ll do.”

“I’ll talk to the doc’, see what he says.” He swept his thumb over her knuckles as she pressed her lips together, his features softening. “You know we can’t go without his blessin’.”

“I know.” She pulled her hand from his and cupped his face, her smile tender. Stroking her thumbs over his cheekbones, she gazed at him as her smile widened a little more. “You could always show him how big and tough you are.”

He chuckled, arching an eyebrow as he tucked a curl behind her ear. “I think it’d really disappoint Dan if I did that.”

“Hmm, that’s true. And he’s become such a great friend.”

His chuckle was muffled by her lips meeting his. The kiss was soft and tender, his hand moving to cup the back of her neck to keep her close. She hummed lightly, and it stirred something within him, his other hand releasing the cloth and settling on her waist. She took that as an invitation she was ready to accept, her tongue touching against his lips until they parted and she met his tongue.

His fingers tangled into her hair, and she hummed again, the sound full of longing. Christ, he wanted her. He wanted to feel his wife, to hear the sounds she only made for him, to take them away from here for a little while, to—

Three sharp knocks sounded on the door.

The kiss swiftly ended, their eyes darting to the door, but their hands remained on one another.

“It’s me,” Sadie called a moment later, sounding disgruntled.

They shared a look, smiles pulling at their lips even as disappointment lingered in their eyes. Her hands went to her lap as his took up the cloth again and doused it in more liquid.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened instantly, Sadie entering with the corners of her mouth turned down.

“Can’t fuckin’ sleep with all them people talkin’ and wagons and horses...”

After closing the door behind herself, she strode across the room, kicking her boots off, and climbed onto the bed behind Arthur, settling close to the wall with her arms folded across her chest.

Arthur met Ada’s gaze again as he gently wiped a few more times at the stitches, both of them trying to stifle their grins, and Ada cleared her throat.

“Is your room on the front?”

“Yeah,” she grumbled, adjusting her head on the pillow. “Like a damn circus out there.”

“Well, make yourself at home.” Arthur folded the cloth and placed it on the bedside table along with the bottle. 

“Oh, I will.”

Ada leaned forward again as Arthur picked the fresh bandages up, and he wound them around her, covering the wound, and tied it securely. He brushed his thumb lightly over it, a small gesture of affection, and Ada smiled, mouthing her thanks. He settled her shirt back in place with a nod, and then stood with a groan.

“All righ’, I won’t be long.”

Sadie cracked an eye open. “Where you goin’?”

He pulled his coat on once more, raising his eyebrows. “To see the doc’.”

She snorted, her eye closing. “Ugh, tell ‘im I did as I was told. I’m sure it’ll make his damn day.”

Arthur caught Ada’s expression as he headed for the door, and knew she was thinking exactly the same as him.

_I sure hope it does put him in a good mood._

* * *

“Doc’?”

Wallace turned from the cabinet he was arranging at Arthur’s voice and the bell above the door tinkling. 

“Arthur, good afternoon.”

“Hello, sir.”

Arthur closed the door behind him, keeping the bitter cold out, as Wallace nudged a bottle into place before closing the cabinet and turning his full attention to him. 

“How is your wife?”

“Fine, thank you. She’s eaten a little and I got that wound cleaned.”

Wallace nodded, moving towards the store counter. “Good, that’s very good. And Mrs Adler, dare I ask?”

Arthur couldn’t stop a smile from pulling at his lips. “Yeah, her, too. She’s takin’ a nap righ’ now.”

“Ah, a miracle,” the doctor answered drily. Rifling through some papers on the counter, he glanced up at Arthur and paused, watching the man hesitate. “What is it?”

Arthur’s jaw moved as he hesitated again. “... Ada wants to go home.”

Wallace sighed, straightening. “Sir—”

“Look, I know, I know,” Arthur interjected, holding a hand out. “But we got a little girl and we ain’t been away from her, ever, so we really wanna get back to her.”

“I understand that but—”

“We don’t live too far away, only out by Emerald Ranch. If I, if I got a wagon, I could lay her down in it, go slow, it’s flat roads all the way there.”

Wallace was, as far as Arthur could see, unmoved. “Arthur—”

It made him feel somewhat desperate. “Please, doc’. She ain’t gonna even try to get better if she can’t see her daughter, trust me.”

Silence fell.

The doctor looked at him, his jaw moving slightly. “The melancholy that overcame her last night, and that’s happened before, do you believe it would return and worsen?”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. Last night ain’t the worst it’s been and... like I said, she ain’t gonna try if she can’t see her.”

Wallace exhaled a breath, the sound close to a sigh. Seconds ticked by before he spoke again.

“I’ve passed through Emerald Ranch before, they have a doctor there, don’t they?”

Arthur managed to hide his surprise, and the small glimmer of hope that was growing. “Uh, yeah. He’s mostly there for the animals, but he’s good with people, too. Helped my wife when she gave birth.”

The other man nodded once. “All right, I’ll allow it.”

Relief flooded through him as he released a breath, but Wallace was already raising a finger, eyebrows high.

“ _But_ you go tomorrow and slow and you will have to be the voice of reason, sir, no matter how much it breaks your heart. If you need to stop because she’s in pain, you stop, don’t let her persuade you to continue.”

Arthur nodded several times. “Yes, sir. Thank you—”

“And it’s on you if anything happens to her.”

That dimmed some of his joy, his throat bobbing as he nodded again. “I know.”

_Something already has happened that’s on me._

“And...” Wallace’s finger was still raised, expression stern and resolute. “... only if she can get out of that bed, down the stairs and to the saloon for a proper meal.”

_Oh, shit..._

He’d planned on carrying her down to the wagon, if permission had been granted. Even just sitting up had given her some pain, so moving by herself...

Managing to hide his apprehension, he inclined his head. “Yes, sir, I’ll make sure we have dinner there tonight.”

“All right.” Wallace lowered his hand, returning to his papers, his gaze dropping. “The same for Mrs Adler, too. Though I doubt she’ll heed any of my professional opinions.”

* * *

"I think I’m gonna go down to South America.”

Sadie popped a peach segment into her mouth as she nodded, licking her lips before continuing.

“It’s wild there but, less mean, I guess. Think I’ll run protection for a gold mine or somethin’ or take up with a handsome revolutionary, I don’t know.” She smiled, shaking her head. “Just wanna see somethin’ else.”

Ada gazed at her with a smile, chewing on a grape. The moment the door had closed behind Arthur, Sadie had continued talking, about the noise, about how small this town was, and now to the current topic; what was next.

“That sounds wonderful. I hope you’ll write to me, and visit, if you can.”

Sadie grinned, meeting her gaze. “I’d love to.”

“Good. And I suppose you’ll have to visit here again, too...” Ada’s lips twitched at Sadie’s frown. “... That Sheriff Daniel’s quite a feller, very handsome...”

Sadie released a laugh, wiping peach juice from her mouth with the back of her hand. “Ha, yeah. He came over yesterday and this mornin’ before he came in here, won’t stop askin’ me how I am, if I’m all right, if I need anythin’...” She finished in a faux love-sick voice, making Ada laugh.

“You mean like a decent person would?”

The blonde woman snorted. “Yeah, but he gets these moony eyes when he looks at me.”

Ada grinned, arching an eyebrow. “Certainly seems like he could duel a revolutionary.”

“Now I’d like to see that!”

They laughed, and Arthur’s smile widened at the sound of it as he opened the door and entered. They looked to him, laughter trailing off as their smiles lingered, and he raised his hands as he pushed the door closed with his boot.

“Doc’ says we can go tomorrow.”

He hadn’t thought it possible, but Ada’s smile widened, her eyes lighting up. “ _What?_ Really?!”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, leaning against the chest of drawers as Sadie patted her arm, grinning. “I just gotta find a wagon and, uh...” He trailed off slightly, clearing his throat. “... And you just gotta get up and go across to the saloon for a meal.”

Her smile froze, her brow dipping. “... Really?”

“Yeah.” His thumb and forefinger rubbed together, a strange, nervous sensation in his chest.

There was the slightest of pauses before her eyebrows raised as she shrugged. “Well. I can do that.”

“Yeah.” He felt like an idiot, repeating himself so damn much. Making his lips rise a little higher, he glanced at Sadie, her smile gone, though she quickly reformed it. “We’ll have dinner there tonight, all of us.”

“Sounds good,” the blonde woman answered, keeping her tone light.

His gaze returned to Ada and he caught it before she could smother it; her apprehension.

“Well...” She smiled lightly as she adjusted her shoulders on the pillow. “I think I’ll join Sadie and take a nap until then.”

“All righ’, sweetheart. I’ll go see where John is, and see about a wagon.” He paused, glancing at Sadie again, and thankfully found that she’d closed her eyes. His features softening, he met Ada’s gaze and mouthed, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she mouthed back with a softer smile, her fingers lacing together.

He left them to their rest, quietly closing the door on his way out and heading to John’s room. There was no response to his knock, and the door was locked, so Arthur assumed he was out somewhere, eating, still bathing or tending to his horse. He should probably do the same.

Finding Noka and Titan near the stables, grazing on a pile of hay that had been left there, he murmured lowly to them, soothing them and stroking their faces. Retrieving a brush from his saddlebag, he brushed them down, taking his time with the task. It was John who found him a short while later, leading his horse, Rachel, by the reins and carrying a bucket of oats in his other hand. They tended to the horses together, taking the time to clean and polish the saddles, too, while talking about the prospect of going home tomorrow and where they might be able to find a wagon.

After they’d finished, they strolled around the town, enquiring. The general store owner directed them to a man at the saloon by the church, who directed them to another man there, who directed them to the tents by the stables. After some negotiating, a Dutch man sold them a wagon, that was just big enough for someone to lie down in, for more than it was worth but the wheels were sturdy and it had the space needed and that’s all Arthur cared about. They used Titan to pull the wagon around to the front of the hotel, asking the owner if they could leave it there. He agreed, for a small fee, and afterwards they went up to John’s room where they divided the Blackwater spoils between the five of them.

Arthur still couldn’t believe it, his gaze travelling over the shining bars, coins and jewellery as he held wads of bills in his hands. He felt strange, finally holding it, owning it. He’d thought about that job, the one out of many that had gone so wrong, over the last few years. Had _that_ been the turning point? Dutch had killed a woman then, and it had unsettled him and the others but... Well, things had just carried on, hadn’t they? Pushing the thoughts from his mind, he tucked his and Ada’s share into one of the saddlebags John had carried the loot down in, telling himself what good the money could do now.

Yes, he could build that stable, take on more horses, earn more of his honest income, and buy more materials for Ada so she could expand her own business, more books and clothes for Millie, some could even go to Thom and Charlotte, they wanted to build on their land...

Yes, it could do some good now.

John joined Arthur when he returned to the general store, buying some food and ammunition for himself while Arthur bought himself a new pair of gloves, and a new pair of trousers, coat, corset and a shirt for Ada. They sat on the hotel porch afterwards with their packages, saddlebags full of gold at their feet, watching the sun slowly go down and talking idly about the weather and what it might mean for each of their crops.

_If us ten years ago could see us now,_ Arthur though, a smile pulling at his lips.

With the sun disappearing, the air became even colder and they headed inside to their rooms, agreeing to regroup in half an hour to make their way to the saloon. Arthur patted John on the back as he paused at his door, fishing his key out of his pocket, and Arthur continued on to his own. He listened for a moment to hear if the two women were talking, but there was just silence.

Quietly opening the door, he met Ada’s gaze, and found she was alone, again, though half of her hair was now tied back in a braid.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Shutting the door, he was grateful that someone, most likely Sadie, had stoked the fire, the room warm without being overbearing.

“Where’s Sadie?” he asked as he placed the package on the chest of drawers and the saddlebag at the base of it.

“Gone to take a bath. I don’t know how she’s going to do it on her own but, well, that’s Sadie, isn’t it.” She smiled, twisting her wedding band around her finger as she watched him approach.

He nodded at her, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing his hand on the mattress on the other side of her legs. “She do your hair?”

“Yeah.” Her smile widened a little more as she ran her fingers over the lower half. “We both couldn’t sleep for long so we had to occupy ourselves somehow.”

“It’s pretty.” The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, watching her try to suppress her own.

“Thank you, Mr Morgan.”

It always amused him when, despite having murmured to her the most sensual, sinful things, a simple compliment made a pink tinge rise on her cheeks. Chuckling, he tilted his head, his fingers brushing against her thigh.

“I said to John we’d meet in half an hour. You wanna get changed now?” He said it gently, and she only paused for a moment, her fingers still twisting together.

“Sure. Into what, though, I don’t know.”

“Well, I bought you these...” Patting her thigh as he rose, Arthur moved to the chest of drawers and returned to his place with the package, placing it on his lap. Pulling the string that held it together away, he unwrapped the clothing and held them up for her.

She took the cream shirt and corset and grey trousers and brown coat, inspecting them as her smile returned and grew. “These are lovely, thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. You know I’d prefer you naked but I think that’d get us kicked out.”

She laughed, running her fingers over the material for a few moments, before she exhaled a breath and met his gaze.

“All right, let’s get this over with.”

He stood, not saying a word, and took the clothes from her, placing them at the foot of the bed. Pushing the blankets off of herself, he heard the long, quiet breath she inhaled. Turning back to her, he held his hands out. Ada glanced up at him as she placed her hands in his and used the grip to sit up. He watched her lips press together and the muscles in her jaw move, a sign her teeth were gritting, though she only made a faint sound as she slid her legs off the bed, setting her feet on the floor.

Their eyes locked again as they paused, and then, when she nodded, he gently pulled her up. She released another sound, a short, sharp hiss that made his chest tighten, but they didn’t stop. In fact, he didn’t stop pulling her until not only was she on her feet but in his arms. Wrapping them around her gently, he held her against him as she exhaled short, steadying breaths, her own arms going around him and gripping onto the back of his coat.

“You okay?” he murmured against her ear, and she nodded, blowing out another breath.

“Yeah. Just give me a minute.”

He held her up as she breathed and found her strength, thanking God that, even though she needed to lean against him, she wasn’t swaying or shaking. His fingers stroked at the base of her spine, cheek leaning against the top of her head. Finally, she pulled her head back and gave him a small smile, hands holding onto the sides of his coat.

“Well.”

“Well?” he prompted gently.

“Legs are a little stiff and I don’t think I’ll be able to move my torso that much, but fine.”

“Oh, only those two things, huh?” He arched an eyebrow which made her exhale a laugh, shrugging her shoulders.

“Yeah, just those two tiny things. Other than that, completely fine.”

“All righ’, I’d say you’re ready to run all the way home, then.”

She laughed, and he gazed down at her, patting her back lightly as he smiled.

“C’mon, then, let’s get this done.” 

He helped her out of the trousers first, pulling them down her legs, crouching and letting her grip his shoulder for balance as she lifted a leg at a time to allow him to tug them away over her feet. Then the new trousers went on, her legs lifting again, and he slid them up to her waist, buttoning them carefully before he helped her slip her feet into her boots.

Next was the removal of her torn and bloodied shirt and corset. He threw them into a corner before gliding his finger tips down her back, the gentle action making her arch slightly, her lips twitching.

“Concentrate, Mr Morgan...” she murmured as his fingers came up over her shoulders and down to her chest, hovering over her breasts.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The corset was soft and easy to tie, his chin resting on the top of her head as his hands secured it at her back. Helping her pull the shirt on one arm at a time, he adjusted the collar before buttoning it from the bottom up.

He glanced up at her every few moments, finding her eyes on him, and brushed his finger between her breasts before he finished buttoning up to her collarbones. Lastly, he helped her with the coat, smoothing down the collar.

“That all righ’?” he murmured, hands resting on her arms. “You comfortable?”

“Yeah, it’s perfect, thank you.” Her hands went to his chest, tracing over the buttons of his coat with a soft smile.

“You ready to go downstairs?”

“Sure.”

She pressed her lips together slightly, her smile faintly lingering. She was just as apprehensive as he was, he could tell, but they both knew if she did it, if she just went downstairs, crossed the street and had a meal, then they could go home.

He wished he could take away the pressure and the burden.

His hands moving up, he cupped her face, exhaling a breath as he gazed down at her.

“You can do it, darlin’. One step at a time.”

Ada nodded, leaning her head into his touch as one of his thumbs stroked across her cheek, smile gone. “One step at a time.” Licking her lips, she patted his coat, raising her eyebrows a little.

“Are you not gonna change?”

He shook his head as a corner of his mouth lifted. “Nah. No point if we’re goin’ home tomorrow.”

She stared at him.

He opened his mouth after a few moments of silence to speak when her hands went to his face and she drew his head down, capturing his lips in a firm kiss. He cupped the back of her head, returning it instantly as his eyes closed. His other went to her lower back, holding but not pressing her against him so he wouldn’t hurt her. She broke the kiss barely seconds later, but didn’t move, her eyes locking with his as they opened.

“I love you,” she said quietly, and his forehead rested gently against hers.

“I love you.”

Sniffing, she pressed another kiss to his lips before releasing him, visibly steeling herself.

“All right, let’s go.”

As she took his arm, he led her to the door, opening it and letting her step through first. He pocketed the key after locking it behind them, and he waited for her to move first, letting her lean on him as they moved down the corridor.

Arthur could feel how stiff she was, but she didn’t make a noise, didn’t complain. Upon reaching the stairs, though, his heart began to ache at her expression. 

She paused, staring down at them, and he could see her mind working, trying to figure out how best to do it. Clearing his throat, he took the first step down, holding out a hand to her. Her gaze shifted to him, and she smiled faintly. Taking his hand, she placed her other on the wall and stepped down. As they’d said, she took one step at a time, holding his hand tightly and wincing with every move.

“You all righ’?” he asked when she paused halfway down, blowing out a breath.

“Yeah, yeah... just a little sore.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she wanted to go back, but he already knew the answer.

After nearly a minute, she nodded and continued down. At the curve in the stairs that lay between her and the last four steps down, Arthur glanced to his left and saw the hotel owner, a kind smile on his lips.

“Here, ma’am...” He stepped forward, holding a hand out to her, and she accepted it with a gracious smile.

“Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.”

“It’s no trouble at all, ma’am. It’s mighty good to see you on your feet.”

Her smile lingered, though Arthur suspected it was to also hide her grimaces as she moved down the last couple of steps. Sweat was starting to shine on her brow and she already looked tired, the dark circles under her eyes so pronounced. This was a bad idea, he shouldn’t have let her do this—

Ada’s features lit up as she looked over Arthur’s shoulder, her hand falling from the hotel owner’s.

“ _Charles_.”

He was about to look himself but she was already moving, her grip tightening on his hand, and he moved with her to the door, one hand on her back. She gripped the door handle and pulled it open, keeping a hold on it to steady herself as they gazed out. Charles was guiding his horse towards the post before the hotel porch, and at the sound of the door opening he looked up and smiled at them.

“Hey, you’re up.”

Ada’s smile was wide and hopeful as she stepped out onto the porch, her free hand moving to grip the doorframe, and she ignored his words.

“How are they, Charles?”

He dismounted and pulled the reins over his horse’s head, wrapping them around the post as looked up at them again. “They’re fine.”

The hand that was squeezing Arthur’s so tightly relaxed a little, and Arthur felt his shoulders do the same.

“Really?”

“Yeah. They didn’t seem to suspect anything.” Charles removed his gloves as he ascended the stairs, his smile returning. “I met Millie. She’s a lot like you, and you, Arthur. She’s very much your child.”

Ada’s voice cracked slightly as she asked, “She’s happy? She’s okay?”

“Yeah, she is.” Charles could see the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes as she exhaled, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “She misses you both, but she’s fine.”

Ada nodded several times as Arthur met his gaze and nodded his thanks, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Thank you, Charles. Thank you so much,” Ada said quietly, and Charles squeezed her shoulder before dropping his hand.

“Anytime.” Looking them over, his eyebrows raising a little, he continued, “So, where are we goin’?”

Ada sniffed, smiling as she shrugged a shoulder. “Out to dinner, like regular folk.”

As Charles’s gaze dropped to where her wound was, Arthur cleared his throat. “Doc’ won’t let us go home unless she can get there and eat.”

“Ah.” The look he gave Arthur suggested they should have stayed put, and maybe in another time and place Arthur would have agreed with him at feeling Ada lean more heavily against him as time ticked by.

But, he just raised his eyebrows.

_You try and tell this mother to get back upstairs._

Message received, Charles took in a breath, offering his arm to Ada as he turned.

“I’ll come, too, I’m starving.”

Arthur could have handed all his earthly possessions over to him right there and then. He caught Ada’s grateful smile to the man as she wrapped her hand around his arm, leaning some of her weight against him, and they moved together to the stairs. They helped her down, one at a time again, beads of sweat now sliding down her neck and pained sounds coming from the back of her throat as she gritted her teeth, but neither man said a word.

When she stepped down onto the muddy street, Arthur settled an arm around her waist to aid in keeping her torso as straight as possible. Thankfully no wagons or riders were coming down the street as they crossed it, so they could take their time, her steps small.

“Is Wallace watching?” she murmured.

“What?” Arthur asked gently, her words somewhat indecipherable due to her clenched jaw.

“Is Wallace watching from his office?”

Charles answered as he and Arthur glanced up with a quiet, "Yeah.”

And he was, gazing out of his window at them expressionlessly.

“Ooh, shit...” she sighed, her eyes on the ground.

Anyone and everyone could see she was in pain and, hell, Arthur was close to just sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her the rest of the way. Why the hell had Wallace ordered it? To deter her? To motivate her? Who was the winner here? No one, but maybe that was Wallace’s point.

It was the stairs up to the saloon that nearly undid it all. Arthur watched her stare at them, the wood illuminated by the warm lights that shone within.

“I don’t think I can do it,” she whispered in a voice so quiet both men were surprised they’d heard.

“You can, darlin’,” Arthur murmured, tucking a curl behind her ear. “This is the last thing, then you can sit down and we’re gonna have a real nice meal.”

Tears had returned to her eyes, perhaps from exhaustion, or frustration, or the unfairness of it all, or her desperate want to do it, most likely all four, and it broke his heart. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes and a few tears slipped out, sliding down her cheeks. Charles was patting her back gently which seemed to only be making it worse, her teeth sinking into her lower lip to stop it from trembling.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?”

Charles and Arthur looked up to see John and Sadie approaching from the hotel, Sadie a little slower, her arm wrapped around her stomach, hand against her side.

Arthur opened his mouth, but Ada answered, her voice breaking again.

“I’m trying to get up the damn stairs.”

“Yeah, gettin’ up them hotel ones nearly killed me,” Sadie muttered as they joined them, though Sadie didn’t stop as John did.

Instead, she moved halfway up the stairs with a groan and a curse, hissing her breaths in and out. Turning, she arched an eyebrow.

“But they didn’t kill me. You can do it, lady.”

Ada stared up at her, the corners of her mouth turned down, tears shining on her cheeks, and Sadie tilted her head.

“You _can_ do it.”

“C’mon, Ada. S’just a couple of steps, ain’t nothin’,” John chimed in, a warm smile on his lips when she looked to him.

Her gaze returned to the stairs, and Arthur held his breath as he rubbed her lower back.

Then, she nodded.

Tightening his hold around her, Charles on her other side now holding her arm and hand, they ascended a step at a time with her. She gave a heart-wrenching groan halfway up, her features twisting with pain, but she didn’t stop until they reached the top. When they did, she released an almost gasped breath, as if she had been holding it in, and Arthur pressed a kiss to her head as the others smiled widely and cheered her. She was smiling herself, her eyes closing for a few moments.

“All right, let’s carry on, I need to sit down.”

Sadie and John held the saloon doors open for them, and they all ignored the quietening of the establishment as they entered. Sadie cleared two men away from a table by a window to their right just by jerking her thumb behind her, their chairs swiftly scraping back as they scrambled out of them. Arthur and Charles helped to lower Ada into a chair carefully, her brow dipping. Once seated, though, and leaning back, she exhaled a heavy, relieved breath, looking up at them both gratefully. Arthur kissed her head again as Charles patted her hand, and they both took a seat beside her, John and Sadie already seated.

A woman with strawberry-blonde hair hurried over from the bar, smile wide as conversations around them resumed. There were only two meals available, a lamb or beef stew, and they all ordered which one they preferred, John also ordering a bottle of whisky for the table.

He sat back as the woman hurried away back to the bar, shaking his head as he looked between them all with a smile.

“Look at you three. Who’d’ve guessed you were bleedin’ out a day ago.”

Sadie snorted, her hands resting on her stomach. “Seems like God’s got a sense of humour.”

“That he does!” John laughed as the woman returned with the bottle on a tray and a glass for each of them.

They quietened as she distributed them and mumbled a, “Let me know if you need anythin’ else...” before she was scurrying away again. John uncorked the bottle and poured them all a couple of fingers of whisky, leaving himself until last.

“Yeah, look at us all, huh,” Sadie said, surprising them with her quietness as John placed the bottle on the table. “We all really made it.”

“Yeah, we did,” Charles answered with a smile, fingers wrapped around his glass.

A silence descended upon the table as they shared in a moment without fear, worry or grief, the only thought being what was happening right now and of each other. Despite all the noise around them, despite all that had passed, they were just now a group of friends who’d shared all the joys and griefs that life had to offer. Eyes shone as they looked at one another, Ada squeezing Charles’s arm as Sadie smiled at Arthur and John.

The latter raised his glass, clearing his throat. “How about a toast?”

They all did the same, and tried to find the right words.

It was Arthur who announced, “To good friends, and a good life.”

“Good friends and a good life,” they repeated instantly, firmly and quietly.

Raising their glasses a little higher, they then drank to it, eyes still shining with gratitude.

Setting their glasses down, Sadie spoke first, folding her arms and clearing her throat.

“So, Charles, Canada next, is it?”

He smiled as he nodded, leaning a forearm on the table. “I think so. I know some people up there who might take me in for a little while, and there’s some good work up there...”

They listened to him, smiling fondly even as their hearts ached at the inevitable moving on of life, and Arthur felt Ada’s hand find his, lacing their fingers together and squeezing it gently.

Another bottle of whisky was ordered before they’d even finished their meals.

They talked and laughed like, as Ada had described them, regular folk, which they gathered they were now. As regular as _they_ could be, anyway. They reminisced on places they’d been and people they’d known, funny little stories of everyday things that came to them in the moment. John and Arthur and Ada traded stories about parenthood as Charles and Sadie smiled and chuckled, and there was more than a fair amount of teasing towards Sadie about Sheriff Dan. She just waved it off, glancing at Ada as she drank with a secretive smile. Another bottle was ordered, and talk turned again to the future. Charles was set on Canada and would probably depart as soon as he’d heard word from his friends, Sadie was unsure and happy about it, John just wanted to get home to his family, and so did Arthur and Ada. Most of all, they all just wanted to live their lives.

Arthur, at catching Ada barely being able to keep her eyes open, announced that perhaps it was time for bed. They all agreed, chairs scraping back loudly, drawing the attention of the citizens of Valentine again, who were, again, ignored. John paid for the meals and drinks, waving off their insistences that they would pay him back.

Perhaps he’d feel a bit differently in the morning when his head was a little clearer, Arthur thought with a smile as he watched him stumble slightly on his way to the doors.

He and Charles helped Ada out and down onto the street again, though she was so exhausted and pained that once they were in the hotel Arthur lifted her and carried her up the rest of the way. Her head leaned against his shoulder as he bade a quiet goodnight to them all, John just waving with bleary eyes as Charles helped him into his room, while Sadie blew Ada a kiss with a grin before she entered her own.

Ada smiled sleepily at the gesture, waving her fingers, before she was carried into the room and Arthur pushed the door shut with his boot.

“All righ’... Careful...” Arthur murmured to himself as he lay her down as gently as he could.

A grateful smile was on her lips as he pulled back, and he stroked her hair away from her face tenderly.

“You okay?”

“Tired,” she answered, though her smile lingered.

“All righ’, gimme a minute...”

He stoked the dwindling fire before kicking his boots off and removing his coat. Leaving them on the floor, he rolled his sleeves up as he approached the bed and carefully pulled off her own boots, placing them on the floor. He went to remove her coat when she shook her head.

“No, leave it. I don’t think I can move again.”

Nodding, he stroked her cheek before climbing in beside her with a groan. Wrapping his arms around her gently, he pressed a lingering kiss to her temple. She hummed quietly, her hands settling over his arm, listening to the crackling of the fire.

“You don’t think Sheriff Daniel’s boys... You don’t think he did us a favour, do you?” she murmured after several moments, her head turning towards him slightly, the idea obviously having been playing on her mind.

Arthur took in a long breath, thumb brushing against her coat. “I think he’s a smart man. And a decent one...”

“So, yes?”

He exhaled a laugh. “I don’t know why he did it, but, Christ, am I glad.”

“Mmh, me, too.” She turned her head a little more, her nose brushing against his jaw. “I love you,” she whispered, just as she would say goodnight.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, his hand rising to stroke over her hair. And he didn’t know if it was the whisky, despite only having had a glass, or maybe he just needed it out of his head, but after pausing he mumbled, “You scared me yesterday.”

She pressed her fingers into his skin, squeezing his arm gently. “I’m sorry—”

“No, no, no, don’t you apologise,” he swiftly cut in, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean... I just thought you were...”

He gazed down at her as her fingers brushed against his cheek, her smile tender.

“It’s okay, Arthur.”

He swallowed, stroking his fingers over her hair again. “I nearly lost you, and it was my fault—”

“Shh... No, it wasn’t.”

Her fingers settled over his lips, silencing him, and he just held her gaze, not knowing how someone could love a person so much. As her fingers fell away, the backs of them stroking along his jawline, he cleared his throat quietly.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Ada’s lips lifted a little. “Yeah, and no.”

“Hm, I feel the same.”

Her brow suddenly dipped, her hand cupping his cheek. “How are _you_? I haven’t asked you that, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be... I... I don’t really know.” He shrugged slightly. “I’m okay. I... y’know...” He sighed, playing with a lock of her hair. “... The night before we went up the mountain, John and I, we made a pact, that that would be the last time we do anythin’ of the sort. We just wanna be with our families now, put all that behind us.”

“Well,” she smiled softly, eyes heavy with exhaustion and love. “It shouldn’t be too hard to do that now. We’re really free.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “That we are.”

Licking her lips, she parted them, hesitating slightly. “Do you... Do you feel...”

He knew what she was trying to gently ask. His features softening, realising suddenly that it also must have been playing on her mind, he shook his head, his fingers splaying across her cheek and jaw.

“Nah, I don’t feel guilty or regret killin’ ‘im. I thought I would... I waited for it to come, but... nothin’. I always said revenge weren’t worth it, but... I didn’t do it out of revenge, I did it to protect you.”

Her jaw moved a little as she pressed her lips together, and he could see she was trying to stop the tears that were filling her eyes from falling. Lowering his head, he pressed a tender, lingering kiss to her lips.

Drawing back, he murmured, “You get some rest now, sweetheart.”

Watching her eyes close, long lashes resting against her cheeks, he stroked at her hair gently, soothingly, his own eyes not closing until he was sure she was asleep.

* * *

That sound of metal clanging against metal roused him, his legs stretching out slowly as he groaned.

Lifting a hand, he rubbed at his eyes with a yawn, trying to fight off the last remnants of sleep that were clinging to him. Running a hand through his hair, his arm then settled above his head on the pillow, his eyes opening. Tilting his head down, he found Ada still asleep, breaths soft and slow.

He watched her, not wanting to wake her yet. Yes, he was eager to get home, but he would absolutely not rush her. And who knew the toll last night’s excursion could have taken on her? A small voice in his head was yelling at him, telling him he should insist they stay so she could rest, Charles’s look when he’d returned coming back to him. But... he hadn’t been lying when he’d spoken to Wallace. She would recover more willingly at home, and the very last thing he wanted was for the dark, unshifting cloud of melancholy to descend.

Besides, Wallace wouldn’t really let them go if he didn’t deem it wise, and as long as he travelled slowly, cleaned her wound—

_Shit, oh, fuck._

He’d completely forgotten to check the bandages last night. Pushing himself up, he pushed her coat apart and gripped her shirt, pulling it up as his breath caught in his throat... and then he exhaled.

There was some spots of blood, yes, but they were small.

“I hope that’s who I think it is, or my husband’s going to be very angry.”

Her light, sleepy tone startled him, his gaze darting up to her. She was looking at him, a smile on her lips. Dropping her shirt, he smoothed it down carefully, allowing a smile of his own to emerge.

“He sounds like the wrong sort to be with, ma’am.”

“Nah, he’s okay. A little grumpy but it grows on you.”

“Now I know I can tell the doc’ you’re better, that smart mouth has come back...”

She laughed huskily as he leaned down, pressing several, soft kisses to her lips, as her fingers tangled into his hair.

“You sleep okay?” he mumbled against her lips, his thumb stroking against her temple.

“Just fine. You?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

He kissed her again, letting it linger before he pulled back, his hand resting against her waist. Her eyes were still tired, though they were a little brighter than yesterday, and she seemed brighter in general.

“You wanna get somethin’ to eat?”

She shook her head, raising her eyebrows slightly as she smiled. “Can we just go home?”

He desperately wanted to say yes as swiftly as he could, but Wallace’s words and Charles’s expression were still ruminating in the back of his mind.

“We’ll see if the other’s are up, then we gotta see the doc’... then yeah.”

Her smile widened, her fingers grazing down his neck, and he willed with all the might he had left in him for Wallace to allow them to leave. He kissed her once more, whether to reassure her or himself he didn’t know, and then he climbed off the bed, clapping his hands together.

“All righ’, let’s get outta here.”

They were out of the room in minutes. Having unpacked nothing and she being already dressed, all he had to do was help her with her boots before pulling his own on and his coat, and then help her get to her feet. She was stiffer but she rose quickly, gripping onto his biceps as she blew out a long breath.

“Okay?” he murmured after almost a minute, and received a nod in reply.

She leaned on his arm as they crossed the room and headed out, the saddlebag of Blackwater money over his other shoulder, shutting the door behind them. Moving down the hallway, they paused at John’s door, Arthur rapping his knuckles against it.

There was the sound of faint groaning, boards creaking, and then it was being pulled open, a rather bedraggled John Marston appearing, rubbing at his eyes.

“Well, good mornin’, sunshine,” Arthur greeted cheerfully, a somewhat delighted smile tugging at his lips. “You okay there?”

“Awh, shuddup...” John croaked, raking his hair back from his face. “What’s goin’ on?”

“We’re gonna go see the doc’ now, then if he says we can we’ll be headin’ home.”

John perked up slightly at that, his eyebrows raising. “Really? Shit, all righ’, I’ll change, see where Sadie ‘nd Charles are.”

“Okay, see you downstairs. Get yourself together, you look a mess.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...” John muttered as Arthur’s smile widened. Looking to Ada, he gave as good a smile as he could. “Mornin’, Ada. You okay?”

“Morning, John,” she smiled, her tone full of affection. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Good, good. Well, I’ll see ya down there.”

“All right, John, be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah...”

Arthur met her gaze as John closed the door with another groan, their smiles matching. Shaking his head, he led her down the rest of the hallway to the stairs. She got down okay, awkwardly and rigidly, gripping at his arm tightly, but a little better than the previous day. The hotel owner was behind his counter once again, smiling warmly. Did he ever sleep?

Charles had bought the rooms for a few days so they had no need to pay, and the owner promised he’d reimburse Charles when he saw him, if they left.

“I hope it’s good news for you,” he called as they headed out the door, and Arthur was once _again_ reminded of why they didn’t live near a town.

_Why the_ **_hell_ ** _is everybody so interested in everybody else’s business._

“There it is, ma’am, your chariot,” he announced as they stepped onto the porch, nodding his head at the wagon below.

He hadn’t pointed it out to her yesterday, knowing, as she’d painfully crossed the street, that it would have been of little interest. Now, though, she gazed at it with pure delight.

“Oh, it’s perfect! Do we own it?”

“That we do. A nice little keepsake from our journey.”

She laughed, though the sound quickly morphed into a groan. “Stop making me laugh, it hurts every time.”

“Well, that’s your fault for marryin’ a funny man.”

“Oh, he’s funny all right.”

He side-eyed her, joy spreading through him at seeing her grin.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, c’mon, let’s just get you across the street.”

There were only the two steps up to the office, thankfully, and he knocked on the door before opening it, letting her pass through first.

“Doc’?”

Wallace’s head appeared around the door leading to the back, and at seeing them he stepped in, closing a notebook in his hands. “Arthur, Ada.”

“Doctor Wallace,” Ada greeted, smiling lightly, though Arthur could feel her grip on his arm tightening.

“How are you feeling today, Ada?”

“Fine. Sore, stiff, but fine.”

“Well,” Wallace said as he approached, placing his notebook down on a display table. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Arthur placed an arm around her back, his thumb stroking against her side gently, as Wallace lifted her shirt and inspected the bandages.

“A little bleeding, but not enough to be of concern...” Unwrapping the bandages, he placed them by his notebook before stooping to get a better look at the wound. “... Yes, there is also quite an amount of bruising, this area will be very sore and tender for a while...” Ada inhaled a quiet hiss as Wallace lightly touched his fingers around the area.“... The stitches have held, though, and your body seems to be taking its natural course in healing itself.” He then stood, his lips pressing together as he looked between them. “... As a result, I will allow you to return to your home.”

A wide smile spread across both their lips as they stared at him, talking over each other.

“Really? We can?”

“Thank you so much, Doc’—”

They paused as Wallace raised a hand.

“Don’t thank me yet. I’ll provide you with some tonics for the swelling and pain, they won’t taste very nice, and, Arthur, do you have the bottle I left with you yesterday, to clean the wound?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, I’ll give you another.” He gestured at her torso. “I’ll clean this for you now and bandage it, of which I’ll give you some more of, too.”

“Thank you, Doctor Wallace, thank you so much,” Ada grinned, but Wallace had already walked away, heading into his back room.

Lifting her gaze, she met Arthur’s and he pressed a firm kiss to her temple, his hand rubbing her arm.

“We’re going home,” she whispered, and he smiled into her hair, closing his eyes.

_Thank God... Thank_ **_God_ ** _..._

When he returned, Wallace made swift work of cleaning the wound and bandaging it up. Tying it neatly, he arched an eyebrow as he fixed his gaze on her.

“Now, Ada, _please_ be careful. Once you’re home, _rest_. I’ll write to Emerald Ranch in a few days to see how you are. I look forward to your reply, and that of the doctor who resides there.”

Ada startled him slightly by reaching out and gripping his arm, her smile having not vanished. “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you very much.”

Inclining his head, Wallace patted her hand quickly. “You’re welcome.” Clearing his throat as her hand left him, he picked up a roll of bandages and two bottles from the table. “Take these and use them, please.”

“I will, I promise.” She took them one at a time and slipped them into her coat pocket, while Arthur cleared his throat.

“Here, Doc’.”

Out of the saddlebag he pulled a gold bar, and offered it to the man.

Wallace’s eyes widened. “Sir, this is too—”

“Please,” Arthur cut him off, holding it out a little further. “Take it.”

The doctor was silent, staring at him, and then he reached out and took it, holding it between his hands like it would shatter at any moment. Clearing his throat, he nodded at them. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_.” 

Extending his hand to him, a corner of his mouth lifted as Wallace accepted it, shaking firmly.

Raising his eyebrows as he slid the bar into his pocket, Wallace released his hand. “Well, I hope neither of you take this the wrong way, but I hope I never see you again.”

Arthur’s lips lifted higher as Ada exhaled a laugh.

“You, too, Doctor.”

“Well, take care now.” Inclining his head again, he moved behind them to the door and held it open a little wider, giving them a small smile.

They gave another, grateful thanks, and then he was closing the door behind them. Standing on the porch, Arthur heard her take in a long breath. Gazing down at her, he patted her arm and exhaled.

“Well... Let’s head home, huh?”

“Yes, please,” she grinned, just simply unable to contain it.

Moving down the steps, they saw John leaning against the wagon, rubbing at his forehead with a yawn, and Sadie and Charles sat on the porch. Noka and Titan were beside it; John or Charles had probably brought them over from wherever they were. They were standing idly, tails swishing—

“Arthur!”

Their heads turned at the call as they stopped, Ada’s fingertips pressing firmly into his coat for a moment, before their eyes fell on Sheriff Daniel, watching him approach, his hand raised. Falling, it went to his belt, holding onto it.

“Hey.” The easy, warm smile was on his face, and they returned it.

“Good morning, Sheriff,” Ada replied, and Arthur felt her lean some more of her weight against him, starting to tire already.

“Good mornin’ to you both. Headin’ home?”

“Yep, Doc’ just gave us the word now.”

Daniel looked genuinely delighted at Arthur’s answer. “I’m mighty pleased to hear it. I can escort you outta town if you like?”

“Nah, that’s kind of you but we’ll be okay.”

“All right, well, you have a safe journey home now.”

He offered his hand and Arthur took it, shaking it just as firmly and sincerely as he had Wallace’s.

“Thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Daniel just smiled. “My pleasure.”

Tipping his hat at Ada with a quiet, “Ma’am,” he then continued on down the street, heading down towards the stables.

Arthur noticed Ada smiling at Sadie as they headed on towards them, Sadie just rolling her eyes.

_Well, I ain’t got the time nor energy to get into that._

“Are we free?” Sadie asked drily, though they all knew Wallace would never bother telling her what to do now.

“Yeah, we’re headin’ home.”

Arthur chuckled as John whooped and Charles clapped his hands together as he stood, Sadie also getting to her feet with a muttered, “Thank the Lord...”

“Hell yeah, we are!” John laughed, slapping his hand against the wagon. As if the action reminded him, he stepped back suddenly and gestured at it. “Hey, look, we’ve sorted this out for ya, made it a little more comfortable...”

Ada and Arthur followed him around to the back of it, and she reached out and patted his arm as she grinned at the sight of it. They’d put blankets in the back, along with a few cushions so she could sit up a little, and Ada beamed at them all.

“Oh, look at this! Thank you, all of you, for this, it’s really...” Clearing her throat, she took in a breath, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “I... I, uhm...”

All their smiles seemed to fade a little as they realised what was coming next, John bowing his head slightly as he scuffed his boot against the ground.

“Well...” She gave a faint, brief smile, her hand sliding into Arthur’s. “... I don’t quite want to leave you all now.”

“We’ll see each other real soon,” John said quietly, meeting her gaze.

“If there’s a weddin’, we wanna be there,” Arthur said, a corner of his mouth lifting.

John chuckled, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, hell, we’ll see if there even is one.”

“Oh, there will be, she’ll be there waitin’ for you...”

As Sadie and Charles came down the steps, Arthur moved towards John, embracing him tightly.

“She’ll be there,” he repeated, as John patted him on the back.

“I hope so,” he murmured, pulling back with a faint smile.

Tears pricked at Ada’s eyes as Charles approached her, a gentle smile on his lips.

“Charles, I...” She couldn’t finish, and he just nodded, pulling her into his arms. Closing her eyes, tears dripped down her cheeks as she hugged him, holding onto him for support, and just to hold him.

“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, rubbing her back as she nodded.

Arthur turned from John to Sadie who was leaning against the wagon. Tipping her hat at him, she smiled.

“See you around, Morgan.”

“And you, Mrs Adler,” he smiled widely, nodding.

As Charles and Ada pulled away from one another, sharing a smile, he lifted his head and looked to Arthur. While they embraced, Arthur thanking him quietly once more, Ada blew out a breath with a smile as she met Sadie’s gaze. Tears were still falling down her cheeks and Sadie returned the smile as she stepped closer, shaking her head.

“C’mon, now, I’ll see you at the weddin’.”

“John’s, or yours and Sheriff Daniel’s?”

Tutting, Sadie pulled her in for the tightest hug yet. “Shut up, you.”

Ada laughed thickly, the sound hiding a sob, her chin on her shoulder, eyes closed. “I love you, Sadie Adler.”

Sadie leaned her head against hers, her smile lingering. “I love you, too, lady.”

None of them quite wanted to leave each other.

Ada and Sadie stood with their arms around each other as Arthur, Charles and John attached the wagon to Titan, the permanently calm horse unbothered. When they finally released each other, Sadie took Ada’s hand and squeezed it gently before letting it go. Ada was wiping the tears from her cheeks when John brushed his hands together, stepping back from Titan, and turned to her.

She shouldn’t have bothered wiping the tears away.

They came thick and fast again as he held her, neither saying a word. When he pulled back, he helped her into the wagon, lifting her to sit on the edge as she winced. 

“You look after yourself now,” he said as he released her, and all she could do was nod a few times, sniffing.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair as he came round to the back of the wagon after checking Titan was secured, releasing a breath. Ada reached out to him, sniffing again, and he took her hand, looking at their three friends.

“Well, you all get home safe.”

They nodded, and no one moved.

Arthur looked between them all, keeping a tight hold on Ada’s hand. John was wiping at the corner of his eye swiftly as he cleared his throat, Charles was gazing at them, and Sadie had her hands in her pockets, her eyes on the ground.

“I just wanna...” He knew this wasn’t the last goodbye, but if the past few days, hell, the past few _years_ , had showed anything, it was that if you had something important to say then you said it. “... I just wanna tell you all how much you mean to me, how glad I am to call you my friends, and how thankful I am to you.”

John looked away, his hands on his hips, and Arthur could just imagine what he was thinking.

_You bastard..._

He could feel himself getting choked up, too, so he just nodded, and looked to Ada as she squeezed his hand. Her cheeks were wet but she was smiling; happy.

“Well...” Arthur said again, looking back to them. “We’d best be on our way.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sadie said in the same moment John nodded silently and Charles murmured, “Farewell.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Arthur took both of Ada’s hands, helping to lower her down onto the blankets. She gave a quiet groan as she grimaced, but once she was settled, she shifted back so her legs wouldn’t dangle, and he let go of her hands.

The three of them stayed where they were as Arthur moved to the front and climbed up, taking a seat and gathering the reins. Feeling them in his hands, he paused, both desperate to leave and not wanting to go at all. Turning in his seat, he looked back at them.

A corner of his mouth lifted as he gazed at them, his chest aching. He looked to John last, and it was only when the younger man gave a smile that he nodded his final goodbye, for now, and softly called for Titan to walk on.

The wagon gave a slight lurch as Titan advanced, but then it evened out, Arthur keeping the horse to a walk. Glancing over his shoulder again, he watched John, Charles and Sadie wave back at Ada, his wife’s arm raised high. He had to force himself to look away, whistling so Noka would follow and steering Titan up the street and then, finally, around the corner. 

He heard Ada release a half-sob, half-breath and turned his head to quietly call down to her, “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, just...”

“I know.”

He felt such a sadness within him, too, but... yes, they would see each other again. As often as they could, he’d make sure of it.

After riding over the train track, there was a short hill to climb just outside of Valentine and a small decline, but then, like he’d told Wallace, it was just straight, flat roads.

They were both quiet as they took the paths home, and he suspected she was sleeping, perhaps just to make time move faster. He was impatient himself but he didn’t dare urge Titan faster than the pace he was now. 

It was a dry day that became warmer the further they travelled, and soon he was having to remove his coat and roll his sleeves up, his hat keeping the sun from his eyes. He stopped once, jumping down to check on her before he gave Titan and Noka some water to drink out of a tin cup from his bag. She was still asleep, and he wasn’t surprised; the real recovery would be starting now.

Arthur nodded at other travellers they passed, though they were few and far between. He was grateful for the quiet, and he managed to not think about all that had transpired, knowing there was time for that later, and that if he started now he wouldn’t be able to stop. Instead, he watched the birds in the sky and the critters that scurried across the path before him until patchy, dusty grass turned to lush green fields. 

As they rolled past the O’Brien’s farm, his heart started to beat a little faster. He took the path around Emerald Ranch, not wanting to be waylaid by any of the farmhands or Nathaniel and Martha. Of course, they’d talk to them later, maybe tomorrow or the day after, but right now there was only one person he wanted to see.

When Newfield’s Rest came into view, he could feel his heart thumping against his ribcage. Driving under the archway, his gaze darted from the paddock to the house.

There was no one to be seen, just the animals grazing quietly.

He pulled the wagon to a halt halfway down the path to the house and stood, dropping the reins onto the seat.

“Hey! Anyone home?”

Jumping down, he brushed his hands against his trousers, looking at the windows and seeing no movement. Licking his lips, he took a step back, and then another, intending to move to the back of the wagon.

And then the door was yanked open and a little, grinning face appeared.

“ _Papa!_ ”

God have mercy on him, tears instantly stung at his eyes as he laughed, watching Millie Morgan barrel towards him.

“Is that my little angel?!”

He grabbed her once she was close enough, lifting her into his arms and into the tightest hug he could give.

“You’re home!” she cried, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck.

Drawing his head back to gaze at her, he smoothed her unruly hair back from her face with a wide smile. “Hello, darlin’.”

“I missed you and I made a new stick hut for my doll and I wanted to show you it but Chester knocked it over but that’s okay I can make a new one and then I can show you that one.”

He just gazed at her as she rambled on, nodding his head every few moments. “Yeah, yeah, you sure can, angel. I’ll even help you make it—”

“Where’s Ada?”

Raising his head, Arthur found Thomas O’Driscoll stood on the porch, expressionless, eyes darting from him to the wagon. 

_Ah, shit, here we go..._

Licking his lips again, Arthur turned his body slightly and placed Millie on the ground, even as she made a reluctant sound.

“She’s just—”

“Here.”

Both men looked to the voice, and saw Ada, a hand pressed against the wagon, moving towards them. Her voice had shaken a little and Arthur couldn’t tell if it was from weariness or her tears.

They rolled down her cheeks like a stream as Millie gasped and beamed.

“ _Mama!_ ”

“Oh, my darling...” It must have pained her considerably, but she dropped to her knees and welcomed her daughter into her arms as the little girl ran towards her, her eyes closing tightly.

“I missed you, Mama!”

Arthur watched her features crumble, her hand stroking her hair. “I missed you, too, darling, I missed you so much.”

“I didn’t eat all your chocolate, I promise!”

“G-Good, that’s very good, thank you.”

She was trying so hard to suppress her sobs, and, after wiping at his eyes, Arthur moved towards them. With an arm around her back and a hand on her arm, he helped her up, hoping the hiss she released would just be interpreted as a strange sob. 

Glancing up at Thom, he knew it hadn’t been.

His brother-in-law stared at him, his stillness a stark contrast to Charlotte who was beaming at his side, her raised hands clasped together.

“Welcome home!” she called warmly, and lifted her skirts slightly to move down the steps towards them.

Arthur looked away from Thom, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, and met Charlotte’s gaze, smiling at her.

“It’s good to see you,” he murmured as she kissed his cheek, his hands remaining on Ada to keep her up.

“And you! Come on in, I’ll make you both some tea, you must be exhausted.” 

Charlotte was a smart woman so he knew she was ignoring, for now, both the obvious state of Ada and her husband’s reaction. Moving past Thom and entering the house, she didn’t say a word to him, just patted his arm, maybe even squeezed it pointedly, and disappeared inside.

Arthur didn’t bother to see if Thom followed her in, looking away and smiling the moment Millie pulled her head back and beamed at him. He shifted closer to them, allowing Ada the opportunity to lean against him as she kept a tight hold on Millie, and for his other arm to wrap around both of them. Ada’s head rested against his shoulder, gazing at their daughter as she rubbed her back gently.

“Can we have cake?” Millie asked, wonderfully oblivious to all that was happening.

“Of course we can, as much as you want.” Arthur ruffled her hair lightly, making her giggle, and his heart soared.

As Millie rambled on about all the different cakes they had and exactly what order she wanted them in, Arthur turned his head and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Ada’s head. His fingers stroked against her side, and she released a long, soft breath.

They were home.


	30. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count. I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2 or its characters; some dialogue has been taken word-for-word from the game.

The sky was beautiful, a light blue and a dusky pink in some areas, orange in others.

Ada gazed at the colours, watching the sun slowly set behind the hills far away. All around her, crickets trilled gently and birds whistled softly. It was so still, so peaceful. 

Folding her arms, she rubbed at one of them lightly, looking towards the faint outline of the mountains beyond the hills, Mount Hagen somewhere amongst them.

She hadn’t wanted to die. The moment the bullet had passed through Dutch to her, the numbness had fallen away, crumbled, and she knew she wanted to live. So _fiercely_ she wanted to live, and it was all that had gone round and round in her mind as Arthur had taken her down to Valentine. Coming in and out of consciousness, she’d felt terrifying waves of fear, anger, grief, denial, and, in one moment, she truly thought she had died as finally peace had suddenly washed over her.

A corner of her mouth lifted a little. Morphine would do that.

Somehow, deep in her mind, she’d always known that the final moments on the mountain was what it would come down to; her or Dutch, one way or another. And, once upon a time, she wouldn’t have known what decision he’d have made.

They hadn’t spoken about what had happened since the night before they’d returned home. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t, not yet... though she’d had to with Thom, barely an hour after they’d arrived, in fact.

That had been a week ago, and he and Charlotte had left the next day, the former still cold towards her, the latter reluctant and apologetic.

“He just needs time,” her sister-in-law had murmured to her as they’d embraced, her lovely features full of concern for both of the O’Driscoll siblings.

“I know.”

Ada wasn’t angry at him, though, and she certainly didn’t blame him for being so, either.

Mercifully, they’d managed to prevent Millie from catching on to anything that had happened, despite the heated argument. She just thought her mother had caught a cold and bruised her stomach so “ _gentle hugs for a little while, angel_.”

While she couldn’t help but dwell on her brother and his hissed words to her, full of a venom of a former self, there had been some bright moments since then, and not just from Millie making her laugh every day. John had written, telling them he’d wasted no time in asking Abigail to marry him... and she’d said yes. Ada had cried into her morning cup of tea while Arthur had grinned and grinned, reading the words over and over.

The wedding was due to be in a week’s time, and, as a result of her now strained relationship with her brother, Millie would be going with them, something the little girl was _very_ excited about. Ada and Arthur didn’t think they could ever be separated from her again, anyway. Sadie and Charles would be there, too, naturally, and it was nice, having something to look forward to.

She should feel well enough to ride by herself, then, too, even though they’d take the wagon for Millie’s comfort. Her wound was healing, slowly, but healing. The first few days after they’d returned she’d just slept and eaten and drunk and slept, more exhausted than she had known, the argument with Thom having not exactly helped.

And, through it all, Arthur had been... well, Arthur. She’d never loved him more than she did right now. He’d tended to her, looked after Millie and kept her entertained, looked after the animals and had even started drawing up plans for the new stable. She’d catch the way he’d looked at her sometimes, though; sometimes grateful, other times like he was afraid, like he was reliving the days in Valentine, like he’d been reminded once again of how very much human they were.

They would just be brief moments, though, and then he would smile, fear turning to love. She knew he was waiting for a sign of melancholia, too, but none came. She’d learned to not just wait around for the spells or dwell on the possibility of them, knowing that, though they would come, they would also go, as surely as night turned to day, and life would continue on as it always did.

“Well, if that ain’t the prettiest sight in all the land. Sun ain’t bad either.”

Her lips twitched as Arthur pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his arms sliding around her. She leaned back against his chest with a quiet sigh, her hands settling over his.

“How long did it take you to think of that one?”

“‘bout thirty minutes. I’ve been stood by the window just starin’ at you.”

She laughed, the fingers on one hand lacing with his. “Wow, quicker than last time.”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ there.”

Ada laughed again, and he smiled, pressing another kiss to the top of her head.

“You okay?” he murmured into her hair, and she nodded, tilting her head to lean it back against his shoulder.

“Yeah.” She traced light, absent-minded patterns on the back of his hand with a finger tip, the sky now turning from dusky pink to fiery red. “There’s gonna be good weather tomorrow.”

“Looks so. I was thinkin’ of goin’ out tomorrow, doin’ some huntin’ while Millie is havin’ her lessons with Martha.” His chin rested on her shoulder as he rocked her slightly. “Thought maybe you’d like to join me, if you feel up to it.”

He had to lift his head a little as she turned hers, smiling softly at him. “I’d love to.”

“All righ’. You can hold my coat while I shoot down that Grizzly that’s been spotted, I think I can get ‘im...”

Ada shook her head as she turned in his arms to face him, her lips twitching. “You’re a very funny man.”

His smile was wide, very much pleased with himself. “I know that by how much you laugh.”

“I should stop encouraging you.”

“Oh, you can try, sweetheart, but I see miserable failure...” he murmured, lowering his head towards hers.

And he was right. She couldn’t stop her smile as he captured her lips in a tender kiss, his fingers splaying across her back. Barely moments later, her arms slid up and draped around his neck, her lips moving slowly against his. He teased her for a few moments, his tongue gliding against her mouth, and just as a soft sound came from the back of her throat, he pulled away, one corner of his mouth higher than the other.

“C’mon, there’s still a God damn load of cake left that I am not lettin’ go to waste.”

“You and your insatiable appetite, Mr Morgan.”

He grinned at her as he took her hand, their fingers lacing together. “Oh, I’m insatiable all righ’, Mrs Morgan.”

And she failed again.

Her laugh was carried across their land by the gentle breeze, lifting it through the trees and into the air as she followed her husband into their home.

And life continued on.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a few moments to thank each and every one of you for reading this story. I spent about a year planning it and writing the first half, then as lockdown here came in March, I thought why the heck don’t I just start posting it? And here we are, thirty chapters later!! I can’t quite believe I’ve done it, this is the first series I ever started writing and my longest to date.
> 
> I also want to say a special, huge and just brimming with love thank you to those who have commented. You genuinely kept me going at times and I really can’t thank you enough, you all hold such a special place in my heart.
> 
> I’m sorry for making you all wait so long for the final two chapters! I wanted to make sure I was happy with them and that they were the best they could be. I’ve loved living in this world and thinking about Ada and Arthur and I really don’t want it to end... and I’m not quite done yet! I have a short story planned for Thom and Charlotte that will involve Ada and Arthur, their wedding and Millie, and so much more, and maybe some other stories in the future, too...
> 
> Hop over to my Tumblr page, same name as here, if you'd like to chat or ask questions, or even request headcanons. (I'm also about to write the biggest and soppiest post about how much writing this story has helped me this year eeeeeee)
> 
> Thank you so, so much, everyone, I hope you’re all doing okay in these trying times, that you have a lovely day and end of the year, and 2021 brings you all that you hope for.
> 
> All the best x
> 
> Ghosts of Ourselves — 2021


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